Ma Vhenan
by Xaliryn
Summary: A Solas POV on the Solavellan romance. Largely just the game you've already played put into words. Lore-friendly (as far as I know), with some speculation thrown in for kicks. Most of the dialogue has been taken directly from the game's cut-scenes and banter only to be reassembled, stretched and squished into whatever this is for my own fluffy amusement.
1. Chapter 1

**1.**

Solas took a sip of his drink and winced. Even the weakest of teas were repulsive. Still, the caffeine was necessary and preferable to alcohol at the moment.

He set the cup down and looked nonchalantly at the other tavern patrons. Some argued while others flirted. The barkeep busied herself with filling drinks and a cook slowly rotated a roast pig on a spit. Ordinary people going about ordinary lives; lives that never should have been. Any moment now, it would all end.

Solas's agents had done their work well, and everything was falling into place. In one year's time he had realized just how far the elvhen people—_his_ people—had fallen. He still had not collected much strength after his thousand's-year sleep, but that didn't matter. The Orb of Fen'Harel, the foci for his arcane power, had been given to an ancient Tevinter magister who had aspirations for godhood. He would fail, of course. Once unlocked, the resulting explosion would surely kill the magister. Solas could then reclaim the orb and tear the veil asunder. Then Solas's real work could begin, and the world of his time would be restored. Perhaps a world fully integrated with the Fade would finally make the Dalish clans listen to him, though Solas had his doubts.

A brawl broke out nearby, but he barely acknowledged it. A dwarf with a peculiar crossbow seemed to have it under control anyway. While the incident had the attention of tavern's patrons, Solas's eyes were focused on a window facing the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Any...minute...now...

Green arcane energy erupted from the Temple, then collected and reached skyward like reverse lightning. Shock waves shattered the windows of the tavern. People screamed and ran for cover.

Solas ran out the tavern door and saw the sky torn open, the dry screams of demons echoing through the mountains. What had happened?! The explosion undoubtedly came from his orb, but the partial collapse of the veil was not.

Outside the tavern an intensely green rift tore through their plane of existence. It was smaller than the primary rift in the sky, but was otherwise similar in that demons began pouring out, slaughtering anyone in their path.

This was..._close_ to his original plan but...not quite adequate. Plans put on hold, Solas grabbed his staff and began repelling the demons.

* * *

"It is fortunate you arrived when you did," Cassandra said, her tone more suspicious than relieved. "It seems we have a multiple suspects for the Divine's death."

Solas chose not to comment. There was nothing he could say to put her suspicions at ease. It was rather convenient that the one person who would know anything about the magic involved in the Breach should be here when it opened. Regardless, he and the two women with him knew that Solas was the Chantry's best chance of discovering what had happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. They walked together in silence toward the Chantry in Haven.

"She is an elf, like yourself," said the hooded woman, Leliana, "and likely a mage. Witnesses say she _physically _walked out of the Fade after the explosion."

Solas nodded, feigning an understanding. None of this made any sense, and his carefully laid plans were all crumbling like the temple at the mountain's peak.

In the lower levels of the local Chantry lay a Dalish woman, unconscious and manacled on the damp stone floor. Her left hand glowed with magic, _his_ magic. He hummed in disapproval. Of course it had to be an ignorant Dalish, tampering with magics they did not understand.

The soldiers that stood guard around the woman stepped back, allowing Solas to approach. He knelt beside her hand and studied her. She looked to be barely thirty and wore the armor of a duelist, although it was clearly not tailored for her. _Ah, likely a Dalish spy then. _Her hands too did not bear the scars of one trained in blades, but the callouses of one accustomed to a staff. Leliana was quite observant then; this elven woman was indeed a mage.

Her skin was flushed and feverish, and she moaned faintly in discomfort. Frankly, she ought to be screaming in agony. Somehow, she had accessed the orb and removed a portion of its power in the form of an anchor to the orb itself. The magic she now bore would surely kill her, eventually. Perhaps he could extend that brief lifespan...

Solas eyed the guards standing at attention, who trained their eyes and weapons on him. He _could_ reclaim this Anchor and leave her to the Chantry's mercy, true, but the effort would take what little mana he had recovered since he woke a year ago. He could not then fight off these soldiers, Anchor notwithstanding.

Sighing in frustration, Solas got to work on saving the elf woman's life...for now.

* * *

A few days later, Solas was ready to flee.

The Dalish woman had stabilized—to everyone's surprise—but remained unconscious. Her survival was still a mystery and he did not expect her to ever wake up. Even in the Fade her spirit remained elusive. Now only time could give him answers.

Meanwhile, he and a few others kept the demons at bay, but it was futile work. Without the Anchor's corresponding power, the Breach made from his magic could not be sealed, and there would be no end to the spirits pouring in from the Veil. Not one of the spirits dragged into this world maintained any positive identities; all had been warped into demons.

Solas continued to battle, but it was pointless. Preparing to disengage, Solas made to run when two women joined the fray. The first was the warrior woman Cassandra. The other was the Dalish woman, wielding a staff and warding off the demons attacking him with shocks of lightning. Her skills were unpracticed and clumsy, but together they drove back their enemies. As she approached the rift, the Anchor glowed brightly in her palm.

"Quickly," Solas shouted, "before more come through!" He took her glowing hand and thrust it into the rift. He expected her to resist, but she followed his lead with a quick nod. She opened her palm, allowing the magical energy to focus on the tear, and clenched her hand into a fist to snap the portal closed.

"What did you do?" she asked in surprise.

"_I _did nothing," he answered, equally surprised, "the credit is yours." She squinted at him, clearly trying to guess at where this strange man must have come from. Solas was tall for elf, practiced unusual magic, did not wear Circle mage robes, and bore no _vallaslin_. Quite the mystery, indeed.

The Dalish looked down at her palm, the green energy having subsided but still present. "You mean this."

Solas nodded. "Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand." He paused, not wanting to give away too much information. "I...theorized that the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach's wake—and it seems I was correct." _A fortunate coincidence._ "It also seems you hold the key to our salvation."

She grimaced. Thankfully, the dwarf with the peculiar crossbow interrupted before her savage brain could be overwhelmed. "Good to know! And here I thought we'd be ass-deep in demons forever."

The dwarf introduced himself as Varric. The elf woman frowned, confused.

"Are you with the Chantry, or...?"

Solas couldn't help but laugh. The Dalish were ignorant, yes, but this was truly remarkable. "Was that a serious question?" he asked.

She flushed in embarrassment, and Solas regretted his jibe. Poor manners were never excusable, and she _was_ out here fighting. That effort ought to count for something. He stepped forward.

"My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions."

She eyed him sharply. "I'm Valara, of Clan Lavellan."

"I am pleased to see you still live," he said, bowing his head slightly.

Varric rolled his eyes. "He means, 'I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.'"

Valara folded her arms and cocked her head. "You seem to know a great deal about it all."

Solas hesitated. What that praise or accusation? How much does she know? _Better not confront this now. Give them only partial truths; you're good at that._ "My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade," he explained, "far beyond the experience of any Circle mage. I came to offer whatever help I can with the Breach. If it is not closed, we are all doomed, regardless of origin."

"And what will you do once this is over?" she asked.

"One hopes those in power will remember who helped and who did not."

Valara nodded, excepting his answer. She and Cassandra led the way, Varric and Solas following. Up the mountain they climbed, to see what this Valara could do to the Breach with her newly-found magic.


	2. Chapter 2

**2.**

The next morning Solas emerged from his hut. A light snow fell unto the fledgling camp, the first sign of an encroaching winter. A comparatively peaceful morning when compared to yesterday, the day a Dalish woman came to consciousness, temporarily closed the Breach, became a hero to the people of Haven, and joined a reborn Inquisition. Solas would have declared any one of those tasks impossible for a crude Dalish to accomplish, let alone all of them in one day.

Yet she had remained focused throughout the chaos, becoming quite proficient in utilizing the Anchor. Though forced into action, she had demonstrated both compassion and ruthlessness. _Perhaps her vallaslin of Mythal was well-considered,_ Solas admitted to himself.

Several Inquisition soldiers busied themselves in mundane tasks around him. The efforts of these people, though driven by desperation, were somewhat commendable. At least they were trying to correct the flaws of their world.

Valara left Adan's cabin, patiently assuring the cantankerous man that she would search for something or other. She wore Inquisition mage robes meant for a human much larger than she. At least she looked warm.

"The Chosen of Andraste," Solas announced as she passed, "A blessed hero sent to save us all."

Valara paused and furrowed her brow at him. The comment did come across as rather sarcastic, he supposed, but perhaps that was his aim anyway.

"Am I riding in on a shining steed?" she asked sardonically.

Solas nearly laughed at the poetic retort. "I would have suggested a griffon," he answered casually, "but sadly, they're extinct. Joke as you will, posturing is necessary."

He grew somber, turning away from the woman to face the valley. "I've journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I've watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten."

She drew closer, and Solas glanced at her over his shoulder. "Every great war has its heroes. I'm just curious what kind you'll be." It was the honest truth. Everything about this woman was a surprise, and she had acted with reasonable competence so far. But he had seen the best of his people turn into monsters. He would not follow suit, and he hoped she wouldn't either.

* * *

It wasn't long before Solas toyed with the idea of fleeing again. The Breach had stabilized and he had work to do elsewhere. Still, this Inquisition lacked the knowledge needed to permanently seal the Breach, knowledge he alone could provide. Seeing as it was inadvertently his mistake in the first place, he felt he owed the Inquisition some aid. He also needed to learn more about Valara and the Anchor she carried. Solas believed her claims of not remembering how she received the mark on her hand, and resolved to stay until more answers could be found.

When he declared his decision to Valara, she cocked her head to the side, as though the thought of him leaving had never occurred to her.

"Was that in doubt?" she asked skeptically.

He rolled his eyes. "I am an apostate mage surrounded by Chantry forces and unlike you, I do not have a divine mark protecting me. Cassandra has been accommodating, but you understand my caution."

She nodded. "You came here to help, Solas. I won't let them use that against you."

"And how would you stop them?" he sneered.

She stood firm, her eyes hardening. "However I had to."

That gave him pause. From anyone else he would have dismissed such bold promises, but her resolve seemed so genuine. Perhaps her declaration would actually mean something.

At any rate, this experience ought to be interesting. And the Inquisition would likely provide helpful information that he could feed to his network. He already had agents implanted here, he may as well make the most of his time in Haven.

* * *

Solas's first assignment brought him to the Hinterlands. The higher-ups had decided that Valara should be sent there to recruit the aid of one Mother Giselle, and Solas agreed to help. What started as one objective branched in several, with problems sprouting like the elfroot that grew there. The region stretched out over hundreds of acres, most of them occupied by rebelling mages, revolting templars, or ravenous bears. Valara, Cassandra, Varric, and Solas quickly grew exhausted and began looking for a suitable place to make camp.

A reasonable location was just ahead, but three templars held their ground there. Valara began her magical attacks, which faltered and gave away their surprise advantage. Solas guessed that calling down lightning into the hearts of her enemies wasn't normally called for in her Dalish clan.

Solas stepped in and struck down the last of the templars, expertly wielding his staff. Varric winched Bianca closed. "Magic is always weird, but you, Chuckles, have a way of making it even _weirder_."

"Fade magic is not a common field of study, for obvious reasons," Solas agreed. "Not so flashy as throwing fire or lightning." Solas looked pointedly at Valara. "It must have been a while since these templars faced a mage with any experience."

She glared at him indignantly. "Lightning isn't—I didn't train in combative magic. Killing is not something I've exactly practiced. And I didn't choose lightning magic for its flashiness."

"Then why?" Solas asked, genuinely curious.

"Ice can be messy and lacks versatility and passion. Fire is crude, chaotic, and can be ruled by emotion. Lightning is the higher form of both, a balance of the other two elements. It is tamed fire, or ice brought to life. It is controlled chaos, requiring the most keen concentration. It is...elegant."

Solas blinked a few times, momentarily stunned. That...that was a good answer. Though theoretically flawed it rang with poetic truth. She clearly had given her choice some thought and he had to respect that. He conceded with a simple nod.

* * *

As nighttime approached in the Hinterlands, Solas pitched a tent in a solitary corner away from the bulk of the Inquisition scouts, as was his usual custom. Valara approached with a plate for food, offering it with outstretched arms. Was this a peace offering?

He accepted the food and she studied him, probably still trying to riddle out his origin. "I'd be interested in hearing your opinions on elven culture, Solas," she finally stated.

Solas scoffed. "I thought you would be more interested in sharing _your_ opinions of elven culture. You are Dalish, are you not?"

Valara stiffened. "What's your problem with the Dalish? Allergic to halla?"

He set his plate down lest his righteous anger send the food flying. "They are children acting out stories misheard and repeated wrongly a thousand times."

"Oh, but _you_ know the truth, right?" she snapped, planting her hands on her hips.

He stood to face her. "While they pass on stories, mangling details, _I_ walk the Fade. I have seen things they have not."

She opened her mouth to argue back, but closed her mouth, inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. "_Ir abelas, hahren_." She sighed in resignation. "If the Dalish have done you disservice, I would make it right. What course would you set for them that is better than what they have now?"

Solas stood there confused for a brief moment before regaining his usual composure. He had shamed himself in acting so childishly.

"You are right, of course," he amended. "The fault is mine for expecting what the Dalish could never truly accomplish."

They both stood awkwardly, finding it hard to look each other in the eye. Finally, Solas spoke. "_Ir abelas, d'alen_. If I can offer any understanding, you have but to ask."

Valara considered his offer, and her face lit up. "We could start with combat-based magic. I don't know as much as I will likely need."

Solas narrowed his eyes. "And you think this will be rectified in a single lesson?"

"Probably not," she conceded, "but I'm willing to do my best, if _you're_ up to the challenge."

Solas recognized the bait for what it was, but promptly took it. He picked up his staff and gestured for her to do the same. "Very well. First let us work on your stance before discussing electrical current and its connection to Fade energy."

Valara smiled, "Yes, _hahren_."


	3. Chapter 3

**3.**

After several weeks of scouting, battling, and negotiating across Ferelden, Solas realized that he may have to make an exception to his stance of not educating the Dalish.

For months prior he had rallied elves of all walks of life to his cause, but the nomadic Dalish were consistently difficult to convince. Their stubborn clinging to supposed tradition allowed no room for the truths he offered.

But Valara had an open mind that absorbed knowledge quickly. She had already collected several tomes on historical records, political discourses, and military strategies, and often could not been seen at Haven without a such a book in hand.

Solas cautiously entered The Singing Maiden tavern, always wary of Sera and her pranks. One of the tables had several books stacked upon it, with Valara barely visible behind them. A cold plate of food went ignored beside her.

"_Da'len_, feeding your mind is paramount, but feeding your body is occasionally necessary," he advised, sitting across from Valara and shifting a pile of books. She looked up surprised, apparently having forgotten where she was. She chuckled.

"Yes, yes you're right, _hahren_. It's just that I've never had access to this many books before. There's so much that I never knew!"

"Did your clan not educate you?"

Valara closed her book and started nibbling at some stale bread. "I was First to my Keeper, who taught me everything she could. Unfortunately, I was an insatiably curious child and often bartered supplies for books from human traders."

"I would hardly call that unfortunate."

She shrugged, "They didn't have many books to trade, and my Keeper didn't care for me trading resources that could have been used on more practical things."

Solas frowned, clearly disapproving, but not arguing any further. _How typical of the Dalish to squander any curiosity._ Valara interrupted his musing.

"I'd like to know more about you, Solas."

"Why?" he asked cautiously, immediately suspicious.

"You're an apostate," she explained, "yet you risked your freedom to help the Inquisition."

He grimaced. "Not the wisest course of action when framed that way."

"Still," she pressed on, picking up an apple, "I appreciate the work you're doing, Solas. I just wanted to know more about you."

Solas lowered his head. "I am sorry. With so much fear in the air..." No, he couldn't give her excuses. She had done nothing but good in his sight, and owed her some honesty, however limited. His eyes met hers. "What would you know of me?"

She thought for a moment, swallowing a bite of apple.

"You said that you journeyed through the Fade from ruins and battlefields?"

"Yes. Any building strong enough to withstand the rigors of time has a history. Every battlefield is steeped in death. Both attract spirits. They press against the veil, weakening the barrier between our worlds. When I dream in such places, I go deep into the Fade. I can find memories no other living being has ever seen."

She eyed him skeptically. "You fall asleep in the middle of ancient ruins? Isn't that dangerous?"

"I _do _set wards," he said with mock annoyance, "and if you leave food out for the giant spiders, they are usually content to live and let live."

"_Usually_?"

"There have been...a few incidents."

Valara laughed. Solas could not decide if it felt more gratifying or insulting. Though his pride was somewhat wounded, he still took pleasure in making someone laugh for the first time since...a considerably long time.

"That's impressive," she continued. "I've never heard of anyone going so far into the Fade. That's extraordinary."

"Thank you," he said, genuinely grateful. "The thrill of finding remnants of a thousand-year-old dream? I would not trade it for anything."

Her eyes sparked in interest. This reaction stood in stark contrast to how people usually reacted to his fondness of the Fade.

"What else have you seen in the Fade?" she asked eagerly.

Solas found her enthusiasm infectious. "This world," he explained, "or its memory, is reflected in the Fade. Dream in ancient ruins, and you may see a city lost to history. Some of my fondest memories were found in crumbling cities long picked dry by treasure seekers. The best are the battlefields. Spirits press so tightly on the Veil that you can slip across with but a thought."

"Any place in particular?"

"I dreamt at Ostagar. I witnessed the brutality of the darkspawn and the valor of the Fereldan warriors. I saw Alistair and Cousland, the Hero of Ferelden, light the signal fire...and Loghain's infamous betrayal of Cailan's forces."

She inhaled sharply. "Tell me what happened! I've heard the stories, but it would be interesting to hear what it was really like."

He leaned forward. "That's just it! In the Fade, I see reflections created by spirits who react to the emotions of the warriors. One moment, I see heroic Wardens lighting the fire and a power-mad villain sneering as he lets King Cailan fall. The next, I see an army overwhelmed and a veteran commander refusing to let more soldiers die in a lost cause."

"And you can't tell which is real?"

His voice was nearly a whisper now. "It is the Fade. They are all real."

It was then that Solas become consciously aware of how close they were, leaning across the table toward one another. He felt...he couldn't explain it, but he didn't dislike it either. It was with real regret that Valara had to excuse herself for a meeting, leaving Solas alone with his thoughts. She was quite different from any Dalish he had ever met. Frankly, it was refreshing to fall into the roll of teacher for a student that could keep up with him.

* * *

As the Inquisition's power and influence slowly grew, so too did their opportunities to aid those in need and free those in captivity. Solas marveled at how nothing was beneath Valara's notice. She was terribly observant, and sometimes solved problems that didn't even ask to be solved. The well-being of everyone, even those who initially dismissed her as a second-class citizen, was paramount to her. It was with no small shame that Solas realized that he was among those who had underestimated her, but he was grateful that her consistent moral code made room for forgiveness.

Eventually they returned to Haven, carting with them several Dwarven carvings, a few elvhen runes, a couple bottles of aged wine, copious amounts of herbs and minerals, and many other odds and ends that he hoped had an intended purpose. The returning soldiers, scouts, and mages hurried toward The Singing Maiden for reprieve. Solas instead sat on a stone wall overlooking the lake beside his hut. He felt a strange satisfaction that Valara headed toward him rather than Cullen, who beckoned unnoticed from the tavern's doorway.

Valara leaned on the edge of the stone wall, enjoying a few moments of contented silence in the winter season's momentary sunshine.

Solas glanced down to see her staring up at him, and she quickly averted her gaze. "I hope I'm not bothering you with my constant questions about the Fade," she said.

"On the contrary," he said, bemused, "I've been enjoying our discussions very much."

She nodded with a slight smile, and climbed up onto the wall to sit beside him. "What made you start studying the Fade?" she asked.

"I grew up in a village to the North," he answered, pleased that he could be somewhat honest with that personal question.

"Which village?"

He shook his head, "It doesn't matter. There was little there to interest a young man, especially one gifted with magic. I treasured my dreams. Being awake, out of the Fade, became troublesome."

"Did spirits try to tempt you?"

"No more than a brightly colored fruit is deliberately tempting you to eat it. I learned how to defend myself from more aggressive spirits and how to interact safely with the rest. I learned how to control my dreams with full consciousness." He sighed, then wistfully added, "There was so much I wanted to explore."

Solas noticed that his demeanor changed when Valara was around. He could discuss most topics openly with her, and they shared many interests. It was a pity really that recruiting her for his own organization would be out of the question. Though there was a chance she would be receptive to their agenda, her role in the Inquisition made any attempt to give her that much information too risky.

"I gather you didn't spend your entire life dreaming," she continued.

"No," he answered sadly, "Eventually I was unable to find new areas in the Fade."

"Why?"

"Two reasons. First, the Fade reflects the world around it. Unless I traveled, I would never find anything new. Second, the Fade reflects and is limited by our imaginations. To find interesting areas, one must be interesting."

She smirked. "Is this why you joined the Inquisition?"

"I joined the Inquisition because we were all in terrible danger." She sobered, then he added, "Besides, if our enemies destroyed the world, I would have nowhere to lay my head while dreaming of the Fade."

Her smiled returned. "I wish you luck."

"Thank you. Now might I too ask a personal question?"

She looked at him surprised. "I didn't mean to pry, Solas."

"Nor I," he assured her. "If you do not wish to answer, I will respect your privacy."

Valara briefly considered and answered with a nod.

"What made _you_ start studying the Fade?"

"I didn't really have a choice. I was one of three mages in my clan: our Keeper, myself as her First, and her Second. The Fade terrified me at first, and in truth still does sometimes. But that fear makes it all the more compelling to explore. Besides," she looked around conspiratorially, there isn't much to excite in a Dalish clan."

"It is nevertheless commendable," he assured her. "How did you become First and your peer merely a Second?"

She hesitated, biting the corner of her lip. "I had...a bit more aptitude than him. He had a difficult time with magic; not everyone can do what they were supposedly born to do. It really made things awkward, though, since I was his junior and his intended bondmate."

Solas nearly gagged in revulsion. "You had an intended bondmate, and he was incompetent at his one occupation?"

Valara nudged his shoulder in reprimand but Solas caught the hint of a smirk. "He did his best. His talents merely lay elsewhere. And...as long as I'm here, our impending marriage can be ignored that much longer."

"I take it your not enthusiastic about the match?"

"No," she frowned. "Poor lad. He never exactly cared for me that way but he does try. Now that I'm away he'll have to function as First. I hope he can grow into the roll."

Her care was endearing, even if the thought of her engaged to some useless twat made him feel ill for some reason. "Perhaps you'll inspire him," he offered. "You've grown into your roll here with exceptional skill."

She looked down modestly but smiled. "I have a good teacher."

"Thank you." He paused, feeling a bizarre need to add an addendum. "In truth, I have lately enjoyed experiencing more of life to find more of the Fade."

She hitched her knee across the top of the stone wall, facing him more directly. "How so?"

"You train your will to control magic and withstand possession. Your indomitable focus is an enjoyable side benefit. You have chosen a path whose steps you do not dislike because it leads to a destination you enjoy. As have I."

Her eyes became playful. "Indomitable focus?"

"Presumably. I have yet to see it dominated." He let loose a sly grin. "I imagine that the sight would be...fascinating."

No retorts, no witty comebacks, Valara had nothing to say to that. She hummed pleasantly, quite distracted with her thoughts. Solas felt remarkably warm and content, more so than he had in ages.


	4. Chapter 4

**4.**

Solas looked out across the gray sea, enjoying Varric's grumbling about the constant damp of the Storm Coast. The two of them prepared to scout the area, gathering their equipment when Valara trotted up from her tent to join them. Rain began pouring down heavily and they all hurried to depart. Solas handed Valara her staff as she brushed dark wet hair out of her face. Had...had her eyes always been that blue? Perhaps it was just the damp but they were truly striking. They matched the hue of her _vallaslin_ perfectly. Wait, why was he thinking about this?

Yes, she was an attractive woman; no one in their right mind could deny that. She was also clever, wise, and a fast learner. She was as quick to question as she was quick to offer aid. She was everything the elves _should_ be.

Most of all, though, she was a good friend. She was terribly fun to bait, to tease, and to rile. But...perhaps he had gone too far. _Fenedhis, _he had indulged in flirtatious banter immediately after she told him she was technically engaged. A little flirtation was probably harmless, but he wouldn't want her to mistake what their relationship really was: _hahren_ to _d'alen_, ancient demigod to Dalish nomad.

The heavy rain slowed their progress considerably that day. It was mid-afternoon when they set up camp, and people did their best to occupy themselves. Stew boiled in a pot under an oiled leather canopy where Solas sat with Cassandra, who tried to make polite conversation. It was not one of her more practiced skills.

"Solas, have you always lived alone? Out in the wilderness, as an apostate?"

"For the most part," he answered vaguely, momentarily distracted by Valara joining them while wringing out water from her hair.

"Would that not be incredibly trying?" Cassandra continued.

"_People_ can be trying, mankind most of all."

"That...is an excellent point," she said.

Evidently that was enough talk for Cassandra, and she left to serve herself some stew. Valara sat and continued her ministrations, clad in a loose-fitting thin tunic and breeches while her regular clothing and armor lay out to dry. Solas likewise wore simple linens, though his jawbone necklace still hung around his neck.

He risked a glance at Valara, whom he noticed was staring intently at his chest.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I was wondering about your necklace. What animal's jawbone is that?"

"A wolf's."

Valara waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't explain any further.

"Have you always traveled and studied alone?" she asked instead. _That _was a question more easily answered.

"Not at all. I have befriended Spirits of Wisdom, possessed of ancient knowledge, happy to share what they had seen. Spirits of Purpose helped me search. Even wisps, curious and playful, would point out treasures I might have missed."

"Wisdom and Purpose? I don't know of any spirits by those names."

Some might think Valara foolish to admit such ignorance, but Solas found it admirable how readily she would admit a lack of knowledge, then seek to amend it immediately. Her capacity for learning was boundless.

"They rarely seek this world," he explained. "When they do, their natures do not often survive exposure to the people they encounter. Wisdom and Purpose are too easily twisted to Pride and Desire."

Her brows rose in surprise and concern. "You're saying that you became friends with Pride and Desire demons?"

"They were not demons for me."

"Meaning?"

"The Fade reflects the minds of the living. If you expect a spirit of Wisdom to be a Pride demon, it will adapt. And if your mind is free of corrupting influences? If you understand the nature of the spirit? They can be fast friends."

"I'm impressed that you could become friends with spirits."

"Anyone who can dream has the potential. Few ever try." Solas stood to move his haversack and unfurl his bedroll. "My friends comforted me in grief and shared my joy. Yet because they exist without form as we understand it, the Chantry declares that spirits are not truly people. Is Cassandra defined by her cheekbones and not her faith? Varric by his chest hair and not his wit?"

Valara laughed at that and stood beside him to help with their nightly tasks. "You have an interesting way of looking at the world, Solas."

"I try." He couldn't resist leaning down toward her like a teacher scolding their unruly student, "and that isn't quite an answer."

Valara stood her ground and stared back up at him with a suggestive expression. "I look forward to helping you make _new_ friends."

"That should be..." _What? Amazing? Fantastic? __Something up until __I__ didn't know __I__ terribly wanted?_ "...well."

Valara leaned closer and whispered in his ear, "That isn't quite an answer, either."

She passed by, not noticing him shiver.

* * *

For the first time in countless years, Solas felt dissatisfied with the Fade. Even as a child, the Fade had been a place of refuge and comfort. He slept more than the average person to find that solace with regular frequency. But as he walked with full consciousness in that world, watching the wisps and spirits adapt to his mind, he couldn't deny what—or rather who—had been occupying his mind. Spirits reenacted his many conversations with Valara, and again he saw her keen interest spark a joy in him he had not felt since before the fall of Arlathan. His intelligent and compassionate friend, who happened to be terribly attractive to the point of debilitating distraction, managed to appear around every corner of his dreamscape.

Had the rest of the elvhen had been like her, he would be tempted to reconsider his destructive plans. And if she knew of those destructive plans, then whatever friendship they had would be likewise destroyed.

But every time he resolved to quit this insipid infatuation, she would do something so damned admirable that he had to start the process all over again. One morning found Solas once again deciding to put Valara out of his head when she walked by, oblivious to his inner struggle. He tried to ignore her but caught a glimpse of her drawn face and darkened eyes. She looked _exhausted_. Evidently she had been quite shaken since the defeat of the Tevinter magister, Alexius. It had been a difficult battle, yes, but Valara had proven herself to be a capable warrior. Her understanding of lightning and its properties now rivaled that of any mage who specialized in the element.

No, it couldn't have been a fear of battle that had affected her so strongly. Solas knew the rumors of what had transpired when Alexius had sent her through that portal, but had yet to hear her confirm them.

"Are you certain you experienced time travel?" he abruptly asked. "Could it have been an illusion, a trick of the Fade?"

She stopped to face him. "I've been to the Fade before," she reasoned sourly, "I'd know it."

"Point taken."

They paused awkwardly.

"What an amazing gift," Solas offered as consolation, "It is vital the Inquisition succeed, to avoid the future you witnessed."

"Most people have trouble wrapping their heads around the idea," she admitted bitterly.

"I'm not most people."

She placed her right hand on his arm affectionately. He was unused to the sensation, but found himself suddenly craving more. "I appreciate you talking with me about it. And...not being most people."

He exhaled shakily and smiled. "If you wish me to speak of Orlesian fashion, I may be at a loss."

She laughed. "That's what Dorian and Vivienne are for."

He scowled. "_Magical_ surprises, however, I can handle. And speaking of them..." he took both her hands and held fast to them. "...you should ready yourself."

Valara looked from their joined hands and up into his eyes. "For what exactly?"

"This Elder One Alexius mentioned. You have now interfered with his plans twice. Once at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and now again at Redcliffe. A being who aspires to godhood is unlikely to ignore such an affront."

Solas believed this to be absolutely true. Somehow, and he wasn't quite sure how yet, the ancient magister—the Elder One—had survived the explosion at the Temple. Now that Valara had become the focus, there was no telling what he might do to her, or the magic she carried.


	5. Chapter 5

**5.**

The Elder One did _not_ ignore what Valara had done.

When the attack on Haven came, she had plunged headfirst in the fight and fought bravely, saving dozens. Her sacrifice allowed the rest of the Inquisition to escape through the mountains.

Even as they fled through the mountain tunnels and snowy canyons, people began mourning the loss of their Herald. Solas hoped that if she had died, he'd be able to sense it somehow, what with her left hand bearing his magic. But then, there wasn't any precedent for an orb's power being split and carried by a mortal. There would be no way to predict what would happen if...

Well he couldn't very well fall asleep right here in the snow to find reflections of her life in the Fade. He would have to improvise. A horse nearby hauled a wagon through the snow, and with shaking hands he grasped its mane and let it guide him as he entered a state of partial-consciousness. His perception of the Fade was hazier this way, so he took a simpler, easier form within it: a wolf.

An hour passed...nothing. Another passed, and despite his aching skull he continued splitting his consciousness into both worlds. A third hour began, and Solas began to truly panic. His breathing quickened and he stumbled through the snow, trying to put more concentration in his search.

Then...there! In the distance, he found Valara struggling to keep her feet in the deep snow and strong winds. Her lips were blue and she looked to be on the verge of collapse. In his canine form Solas howled, calling to a nearby wolf pack that would hear him even across the veil, and steered them toward Valara to in turn steer her toward safety.

Solas came back to himself just as the Inquisition stopped to make camp. He waited at the crest of the mountain, searching for any movement in the blizzard. Clutching his wolf's jawbone, he decided to search again in the Fade when he finally saw her collapse in the snow a few yards ahead of him. He rushed forward to cradle her unconscious body in his arms. Cullen offered to take her but Solas glared him away. With the help of Mother Giselle, they brought her body back to a safe temperature.

Satisfied that she was in no more immediate danger, Solas left her to the care of the Chantry Mother, who watched over her as she slept. Alone in his tent, Solas rested and wondered why he had been so worried. Of course Valara made it back; she extremely adept at surviving things no one should realistically survive. The murmurs around camp where similar, praising Andraste for the Herald's miraculous survival. Still, morale was oppressively low. The Inquisition's forces had taken a heavy toll, their base had fallen, and they had no clear plan to regroup and rebuild. The Inquisition could easily end here tonight.

Selfishly, Solas thought this might be a good thing. Perhaps now Valara could join his cause and they could stop the Elder One—Corypheus—through other means. But...no. No, she was fully devoted to the Inquisition, as the Inquisition was devoted to her.

Solas saw his thoughts confirmed when he heard a few voices singing a tune in unison. He left his tent as the voices swelled. Nearly the entire camp sang, kneeling before a now awakened Valara. These people were practically worshiping her. _N__ot unlike how __the elves__ used to worship __myself and__ the Evanuris._ His and her goals were much the same, too: to free the elves and restore their culture.

Perhaps...perhaps both of their goals could be served if he tread carefully. He could offer a way to rebuild the Inquisition, as well as establish a better network for his own organization. His old fortress was not far away, and with the Inquisition's resources...yes. Yes, this could work. He trusted that Valara would use _Tarasyl'an Te'las_ well. Such a formidable base would also distract others from his true pursuits. He would have to be very careful, though, with how much information he gave her.

Solas crept around the crowd, waiting for them to disperse before passing Valara on his way out of the camp proper.

"A word?" he said.

She followed him to a standing torch which he ignited with veilfire. The blue hue of the arcane flames highlighted her tired, drawn face. Nevertheless, she stood firmly. Solas looked back toward the camp. "The humans have not raised one of our people so high for ages beyond counting," he noted. "Their faith is hard-won, _l__ethallin_, worthy of pride...save one detail. The threat Corypheus wields? The orb he carried? It is _ours_...elven. Corypheus used the orb to open the Breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave. We must find out how he survived...and we must prepare for their reaction, when they learn the orb is of our people."

He braced himself for a tirade of doubt or fear, understandable after what she had been through. He should have known better than to expect such weakness from her. Though tears threatened to spill from her eyes, she clenched her jaw, swallowed, and got straight to the point.

"Alright, what is it, and how do you know about it?"

He obliged her. "Such things were foci, said to channel power from our gods. Some were dedicated to specific members of our pantheon. All that remain are references in ruins, and faint visions of memory in the Fade, echoes of a dead empire. But however Corypheus came to it, the orb _is _elven, and with it, he threatens the heart of human faith."

"Their blame won't matter if we can't get out of this wilderness."

"That is the immediate problem...and it offers a solution that may secure your place in their hearts. You saved them at Haven. Perhaps you can again."

"How? Even if we defeat Corypheus, eventually they'll find a way to blame elves."

"I suspect you are correct. But by attacking the Inquisition, Corpheus has changed it. Changed _you_."

He pointed northward. "Scout to the North. Be their guide. There is a place that waits for a force to hold it, a place where the Inquisition can build...grow.

"What is this place?"

"Our people once called it _Tarasyl'an Te'las_. Today it is called Skyhold."

Valara nodded, but her drooping eyelids betrayed her weakened condition. "I...I need a moment to think," she said.

Solas bowed slightly. "I'll leave you to your thoughts."

He had moved nearly out of earshot when he heard the mellow timbre of Valara's voice singing. Turning, he saw her overlooking the crest of the mountain, where the crumbling ruins of Haven would be seen for the last time before moving on. The wind carried her voice away into the night, and Solas walked silently closer to make out the lyrics.

"_H__ahren na melana sahlin, __emma ir abelas, souver'inan isala hamin. Vhenan him dor'felas, in uthenera na revas. Vir sulahn'nehn, vir dirthera, vir samahl la numin, vir lath sa'vunin_."

Solas tried to focus on the technical failings: that her voice did not achieve full volume, that the original context of the song didn't really apply in this situation, that the pronunciation had been skewed over the centuries, but eventually he had to face the truth: it was the most beautiful, heart-wrenching thing he had ever heard.

* * *

It was a long and difficult journey. The steep mountain paths and heavy snow were difficult to traverse.

But what was particularly difficult for Solas was his waning resolve to stay away from Valara. He couldn't, for he needed to discretely guide her through the mountains, allowing their followers to believe that Valara had received divine direction. He remained by her side, and she remained in his thoughts.

While trudging through the snow, Cassandra struck a conversation with the two elves marching at the head of the Inquisition.

"Solas, if you do not mind me asking," Cassandra said, "what do you believe in?"

The topic of religion had been a common one lately, what with Valara's recent miraculous experiences. "Cause and effect," he answered. "Wisdom as its own reward, and the inherent right of all free willed people to exist."

Cassandra frowned. "That is not what I meant."

"I know," Solas sighed. "I believe the elven gods existed, as did the old gods of Tevinter. But I do not think any of them were gods, unless you expand the definition of the word to the point of absurdity. I appreciate the idea of your Maker, a god that does not need to prove his power. I wish more such gods felt the same."

Valara looked at him, surprised. "You think there can be room for elven gods and the Maker?"

"I am always open to new ideas," he said casually.

She gave him a peculiar look, one that Solas couldn't quite decipher. Surprised disgust? Bewildered fondness, maybe?

Cassandra had been silent, clearly uncomfortable with talk of pagan deities. "Following the Maker might offer some hope," she hesitantly suggested.

She meant well, but this conversation would be going nowhere. "I have people, Seeker," Solas assured her. "The greatest triumphs and tragedies this world has known can all be traced to people." He looked to Valara. "And I've had more reason to hope in people here than I've had in a long while."

Vivienne broke his lingering stare with her daily call for exercise. Every evening she insisted that the mages achieve peak strength by practicing light magical sparring with each other. Solas agreed, announcing that it was the first real contribution the enchantress made to the Inquisition. That was the pretense, but his real design was to keep teaching Valara. It was necessary, really. The Anchor had grown in power significantly and she needed training to use it. At least, that's what he thought before she surprised him with her abilities yet again. A few attempts, and she had mastered the opening of rifts as well as closing them. He made to compliment her on her progress, but Dorian intercepted.

"Solas," Dorian asked, "that little flare you sometimes do with your staff...you're redirecting ambient energy to your personal aura?"

Solas breathed out slowly, resolving to remain civil with the Tevinter mage. It was too early in their sparring exercises to begin pointless arguing. "Yes. The effect clears magical energy and creates a minor randomized barrier to impair incoming magic."

Dorian stroked his mustache. "Fascinating. It's a Tevinter technique. I've never seen anyone in this part of the world do it."

Solas ground his teeth. "The technique is not Tevinter. It is elven. But _do _go on about the wonders of Tevinter magic." It was gratifying to hear Valara chuckle at his jibe. "I am surprised you do not practice blood magic, Dorian. Is it not popular in Tevinter?" Solas continued.

Dorian took the taunts in stride. "While we're sharing surprises, you've done a lot less dancing naked in the moonlight than expected." Valara openly laughed at that and Solas's face soured.

"Tevinter lore about elves remains accurate as always," he noted bitterly.

"I wanted to see you make flowers bloom with your song, just once," Dorian said wistfully.

"We could certainly try," Valara suggested, "but I believe it requires sacrificing a goat under a full moon while drinking the blood of virgins. You'll have to wait."

They all laughed heartily at that, secretly grateful that Vivienne didn't overhear their conversation. The woman had no sense of humor.

"I notice you used a nullification enchantment combined with an offensive attack," Solas told Dorian.

He nodded. "The nullification disrupts any ambient magic lying about. Things then burn hotter," he added with a wink. Solas was unimpressed.

"Don't you then waste an inordinate amount of magic overcoming your own nullification?"

"Ah, no. I warp the Veil slightly to effect distance between the spells."

"Of course. Have you considering snapping the Veil-warp to enhance the relative energy?"

"Like cracking a whip?" Dorian suggested with a suggestive smirk. "Yes, tried it once. Made my teeth taste funny."

"I've never tried that," Valara said, interested, "could you explain the process?"

"It would be easier to show you," Solas said, confidently moving behind her and directing her staff with his right arm on hers. He narrated the technique as he slowly guided her through the movements.

"Alright, now try snapping the Veil-warp with those principles in mind," said Solas, backing away from her with some regret.

Valara easily maneuvered her staff, making the technique look more like a dance than a combative strategy, and executed the spell quite passably.

Solas nodded and Dorian applauded. "Well done, _lethallin_," Solas said fondly, dropping the persona of teacher. "I should stop instructing you, lest my skills become redundant and I'm no longer _hahren_ to you."

"That's not likely," she said, smiling warmly at him. Solas could not feel the cold.


	6. Chapter 6

**6.**

Valara had become Inquisitor to the people long before she officially received the title at Skyhold, that much was clear. What wasn't as obvious to Solas was when she become "_l__ethallin_" instead of "_d'alen_" to him.

Not that he had a chance to use the term often since they arrived at Skyhold. They had been nearly inseparable during the journey, discussing anything and everything. Now she had been constantly occupied with her duties. It was for the best, really. It finally gave Solas a chance to more thoroughly examine the arcane shards they had collected...or more accurately make a pretense of studying something he had mastered long ago.

Then one day it was decided that Valara of Clan Lavellan, the Herald, the Chosen of Andraste, leader of the Inquisition, the Inquisitor herself, needed new clothes.

At least according to Vivienne and Dorian she did. Valara had protested, but she eventually relented to their schemes. As the trio prepared to leave for Val Royeaux, Solas tried to talk her out of it.

"When I said posturing is necessary, I didn't think you'd take it this far," he teased her.

"Ah Solas," said Dorian, jumping theatrically. "You startled me. You're always so...nondescript."

Solas rolled his eyes. "Please speak up! I cannot hear you over your outfit!"

"Boys," Vivienne chided, "be civil. Indeed, an increase in basic civility is all that we're aiming for on our little shopping trip."

"Do try to restrain yourselves," Solas drawled back, "if that is possible. I'm not sure decorative horns would do our Inquisitor any favors."

Vivienne was unamused. Dorian laughed.

"So says the man who dresses like...what are you supposed to be, some kind of woodsman? Is it a Dalish thing? Don't you dislike the Dalish? Or is it some kind of statement?"

"No," he answered simply, refusing to be baited.

"Well, it says 'apostate hobo' to me," Dorian concluded.

Vivienne chimed in, "Unwashed apostate hobo, more specifically."

"Can we go now?" Valara asked pointedly. "We can mock each other later."

Dorian pouted, "Oh, just one more, please?"

Valara gave him a friendly glare and shook her head. Dorian sighed. "Alright then. Solas, you're a special and unique snowflake. Live the dream. Goodbye!"

* * *

While the shopping party was away, Solas had a project in mind. Skyhold was remarkably intact, considering the years of neglect it had suffered. Fortunately or unfortunately—Solas couldn't decide which—nearly all traces of the fortress's original purpose and design had been eradicated. The war table still existed, but all frescos had long since eroded. No evidence remained of his past involvement.

He didn't feel the need to restore the fortress as it was, but rather to build it anew. Skyhold was Valara's now, and it should tell her story. Gathering plaster, pigments, trowels, and scaffolding, he began the first of his projects: to remake the primary bedchamber. It was his, once, but made it hers by painting the emblem of the Inquisition upon the wall facing the Frostback Mountains. Once finished, he began mapping out a mural for the rotunda. It would chronicle her accomplishments in the style of the ancient elves. She deserved to be remembered better than the old gods were. Also, the elven artistic styles relied heavily on symbolism. He could hint at his own involvement without having to admit anything. Perhaps one day she could see the truth in his paintings.

First he painted the Breach opening and the subsequent destruction of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Next came the formation of the Inquisition, portrayed as a gathering of wolves—Solas felt particularly clever about that one. Beside that two paths split, showing the dark future Valara had witnessed and prevented. Next, the destruction of Haven and the reveal of Corypheus. He left the rest of the wall blank, ready to record the rest of her story.

At this point Solas had coaxed several points of history from Valara, while he had revealed next to nothing of himself. He knew her fears and desires, her victories and her failures. He also knew that the attack of Haven and her near death had revealed the depth of his attachment to her. It was weak and foolish of him to compromise himself like that. Besides, while she had been flirtatious, he doubted that her feelings for him matched the strength of his feelings for her.

When Valara and her shopping party had returned, Solas left the rotunda covered in splotches of paint. Wiping off bits of crumbling plaster as best he could, he searched to find whatever monstrosity Dorian and Vivienne concocted to—

Solas stopped in his tracks. _Oh no._ She looked...very...

...he owed Dorian and Vivienne an apology.

Her clothing sent a message. Crafted from leather cut like light armor, the outfit suggested power. Unlike most armor, though, it was thin and expertly tailored to accentuate...everything there was to accentuate. The design balanced a modern style with Dalish embellishments in the bodice's embroidery and coloring. The black leather leggings had elven lacing and hugged her legs tightly. Solas knew Valara was attractive, but this...this was enlightening.

He was in very real trouble.

It turned out that Valara had been given newly tailored armor as well. The deep, dusky purple leathers complimented her teal eyes and _vallaslin_. Of course, Solas despised the blood writing marring her face, but he had to admit that as far as _vallaslin_ went, hers was done beautifully. Symbols of Mythal curved and twisted along her cheekbones, accenting their prominence on her face. And when her black hair fell across her forehead against the vibrant blue and green hues...

No. This train of thought needed to end now.

Solas tried to focus on the reports of his agents. It soon become futile when Valara entered his rotunda. Instantly she forgot what she came to do when she saw the stylized mural covering a quarter of the rounded walls. Solas watched her study the murals, taking satisfaction in his work and her reaction to it.

"Solas, I...this is incredible!"

"Thank you. Though it was your accomplishments that inspired the work."

She blinked, searching for something to say. Her eyes traveled to the table he placed in the center of the room. Scattered across it were several manuscripts in ancient elven that the Inquisition had requested he translate. Of course he could translate them all perfectly, but he made a few mistakes and calculated omissions to maintain his cover.

Valara cleared her throat. "I never got a chance to thank you for guiding us here," she said. "This is far more than I would have dared hoped for."

"_You_ guided the Inquisition to Skyhold. I simply brought its existence to your awareness."

"Still..." she drifted off, seeing the manuscripts on the desk.

"How fluent are you in ancient elven?"

"Quite. Most elves today know only a few words or phrases. The language has been corrupted and nearly lost to time."

Valara frowned sadly. "Our clan never put much emphasis on learning our language. I don't suppose..."

"Yes?"

"Could you teach me?"

"I'd be delighted to, with whatever time you can spare."

"I have a spare moment now, and I'm interested in what you told me of yourself and your studies. If you have time, I'd like to hear more."

He smiled fondly. "You continue to surprise me. All right, let us talk...preferably somewhere more interesting than this."

"Where, then?"

* * *

It was snowing in Haven, likely the last snow of the winter season. The air itself was warm and inviting.

"Why here?" Valara asked.

"Haven is familiar," Solas explained. "It will always be important to you."

"We've talked about that already."

Solas didn't answer, but led her down into the lower levels of the Chantry. He looked at the loose manacles in the center of the prison cells.

"I sat beside you while you slept, studying the Anchor," he explained.

"I'm glad someone was watching over me."

"You were a mystery," he said matter-of-factly, "you still are. I ran every test I could imagine, searched the Fade, yet found nothing. Cassandra suspected duplicity. She threatened to have me executed as an apostate if I didn't produce results."

Valara shrugged. "Cassandra's like that with everyone."

Solas laughed out loud. It felt good. "Yes," he agreed, then immediately sobered. They left the Chantry, heading out into the sunlight.

"You were never going to wake up," he said, "How could you, a mortal sent physically through the Fade? I was frustrated, frightened. The spirits I might have consulted had been driven away by the Breach. Although I wished to help, I had no faith in Cassandra...or she in me. I was ready to flee."

"The Breach threatened the whole world," she pointed out sardonically, "Where did you plan to go?"

_Good question. _"Someplace far away where I might research a way to repair the Breach before its effects reached me."

She raised a brow.

"I never said it was a good plan," he admitted. "I told myself: one more attempt to seal the rifts. I tried and failed. No ordinary magic would affect them. I watched the rifts expand and grow, resigned myself to flee, and then...you came. You had sealed it with a gesture and right then, I felt the whole world change."

He felt his voice waver, betraying too much emotion.

"Felt the whole world change?" she asked in disbelief.

"A figure of speech," he said, trying to deny the implied confession.

She stepped up to him. "I'm aware of the metaphor, I'm more interested in 'felt'."

Her gaze drew him in, and he stepped closer despite the warning in his mind. "You change...everything."

Valara was just a breathe away now. Blushing she teased, "Sweet talker."

For once in his life, Solas was at a loss for words. She was so temptingly close, he had to break away. As he started to turn, Valara took the side of his face and pulled him into a kiss.

It was impulsive, it was sudden, it was...not nearly long enough. Once Valara pulled back, Solas seized her arms, and pulled her back into second, lingering kiss.

In the haze of delirious euphoria, a part of Solas began to panic. This is exactly what he was trying to avoid, and now they had crossed a threshold that should have been left alone. He pulled back abruptly. "We shouldn't. It isn't right. Not even here."

She looked at him quite confused, both at his withdrawal and reasoning. "What do you mean, even here?"

He smiled slyly, "Where did you think we were?"

Her eyes widened in realization. "This isn't real."

"That's a matter of debate...probably best discussed after you..." he smirked, "..._wake up_."

* * *

Solas woke quickly after Valara faded from his sight. He did his best to appear calm and nonchalant (though he was anything but) for when Valara would inevitably come with questions.

Moments later she appeared, wide-eyed and amazed. Solas turned toward her and casually asked, "Sleep well?"

She shook her head in disbelief at such a normal question. "I've never done anything like that before. On a number of levels."

He laughed out loud for the second time that day. He would love to get used to that. But this whole endeavor, while wonderful, was a mistake.

"I apologize," he said. "The kiss was impulsive and ill-considered, and I should not have encouraged it."

Valara's face fell, and he winced.

"Solas, I...thought you were interested. If I misread you, I apologize."

"No, you have no need to apologize, I..." but what explanation could he possibly give her? _I'm an ancient god trying to destroy your world and you're leading an Inquisition to protect it, so any romance __would do us both harm? That's probably what I _should _say._ "...it has been a long time, and things have always been easier for me in the Fade. I am not certain this is the best idea. It could lead to trouble."

"I'm willing to take that chance, if you are."

She was so sincere. Did she truly feel anything akin to the storm he felt? She looked up at him, eyes earnest. He could not deny her completely.

"I...may be, yes. If I could take a little time to think. There are...considerations."

"Take all the time you need," she insisted, kindly. It was a kindness he didn't deserve. He shouldn't have put her in a position where such patience would even be needed.

"Thank you," he breathed out in relief, "I am not often thrown by things that happen in dreams. But I am reasonably certain we are awake now, and if you wish to discuss anything, I would enjoy talking."


	7. Chapter 7

**7.**

There was a palpable awkwardness to their encounters after their walk through the Fade. Solas had had many dalliances within the elvhen courts, of course, but nothing so heartfelt as this. Solas wished that their status quo would be enough, but his feelings kept warring with simple facts. If she knew who he was, it would make an end of their friendship, let alone any romanticism. He likewise could not ignore that she carried his fatal magic. How or when he would cure her of that, Solas still hadn't figured out. He already hated this new world, and now hated it all the more for creating every possible reason to keep them apart.

But Solas had faced worse enemies that his own feelings. This infatuation would surely pass, with time. Meanwhile, he would simply enjoy her company when she chose to give it. It was enough. It _had _to be enough.

* * *

The next day Valara found Solas drinking tea, an odd sight. He grimaced as he forced down the dregs of his cup.

"Something wrong with your tea?" she teased.

"It is _tea_. I detest the stuff." He sighed deeply. "But this morning, I need to shake the dreams from my mind. I may also need a favor."

"You just have to ask."

He marveled briefly at how he had claimed their affection was a mistake, and yet she was still a devoted ally. He stood from the table. "One of my oldest friends has been captured by mages, forced into slavery. I heard the cry for help as I slept."

Her eyes narrowed in confusion. "When your friend was captured, how did he...she..."

"It."

"It?"

_Ah, that's right. I never specified. _"My friend is a spirit of wisdom," he explained. "Unlike the spirits clamoring to enter our world through the rifts, it was dwelling quite happily in the Fade. It was summoned against its will, and wants my help to gain its freedom and return to the Fade."

"I thought spirits wanted to find their way into this world."

_Curse her amazingly keen mind and sensible questions! It would be __maddeningly__ attractive if __we__ were not so short on time._ "Some do, certainly, just as many Orlesian peasants wish they could journey to exotic Rivain," he argued in a rush. "But not everyone wants to go to Rivain! My friend is an explorer, seeking lost wisdom and reflecting it." His voice grew strained. "It would happily discuss philosophy with you, but it had no wish to come here physically."

She nodded, taking his hand. "Alright, let's go get your friend."

"Thank you," he exhaled, relieved. Within the hour, they began their journey to the Exalted Plains.

* * *

Solas gasped. In the distance, a single Pride demon panted heavily as it struggled against several pillars of energy binding it to reality. "My friend..." he mourned, then roared in frustration.

"The mages turned your friend into a demon," Valara whispered to herself.

"Yes," he confirmed. "A spirit becomes a demon when denied its original purpose."

"So they summoned it for something so opposed to its own nature that it was corrupted," she reasoned. "Fighting?"

A young mage with a round face and unkempt mustache approached them. The sight of this self-important, inexperienced, foolish _boy_ flickered an old hatred in Solas. He glared at the young man, who flinched under his menacing stare. "Let us ask him."

"You're not with the bandits?" the young man asked. "Do you have any lyrium potions? I'm exhausted. I've been fighting that demon—"

"You _summoned_ that demon!" Solas shouted in his face. "Except it was a spirit of wisdom at the time. You made it kill. You twisted it against its purpose."

The mage started sweating profusely. "I...I...I understand how it might be confusing to someone who has not studied demons, but after you help us, I can—"

Solas was shaking, his voice coming out like gravel. "We are not here to help _you_."

"Word of advice?" Valara said, moving between them, "I'd hold off on explaining how demons work to my friend here."

The mage would have none of it. "Listen to me! I was one of the foremost experts in the Kirkwall Circle—"

"Shut up." Solas ground out slowly, "You summoned it to protect you from the bandits."

"I—yes."

"You bound it to obedience, then commanded it to kill. _That _was when it turned." He turned to Valara. "The summoning circle. We break it, we break the binding. No orders to kill, no conflict with its nature, no demon."

"What?" the mage asked, panicked, "The binding is the only thing keeping the demon from killing us! Whatever it was before, it is a monster now!"

Solas ignored him. "Inquisitor. _Please._"

She nodded, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "I've studied rituals like this. I should be able to disrupt the binding quickly."

"Thank you."

They succeeded in destroying the summoning circle, but it was too late. The demon transformed back into its original form: that of a faceless young woman. Solas knelt beside it and the spirit gave its final words in Elvish.

"I'm sorry," Solas said.

"I'm not," insisted the spirit. "I'm happy. I'm me again. You helped me. Now you must endure." The featureless face tilted upwards. "Guide me into death," it asked.

Solas closed his eyes in pain, opening them again slowly in agreement. "As you say." He brought up his hands before her face. Her spiritual form gradually dissipated and faded from view. His hands fell to his sides. "Dareth shiral."

Valara came to his side. "You did everything you could. I understood what it said. It was right, you did help it."

_This is not the first time that I did everything I could, _Solas thought bitterly. _I have always done everything in my power to prevent the downfall of those who deserved better. This is but the latest failure. _He continued kneeling, unable to move. The hot sun burned into his back. The bright and clear blue sky seemed a mockery of his misery. "Now I must endure."

"Let me know if I can help," Valara said softly.

He stood and smiled fondly at her, the only person that made anything in this world feel _right_. "You already have." His eyes turned to ice as he faced the mage. "All that remains now is _hi__m_."

The mage stepped forward. "Thank you. I would not have risked a summoning, but the roads are too dangerous to travel unprotected."

Solas stormed toward him. "You tortured and killed my friend."

The mage back up in fear, bringing his hands up protectively "I didn't know it was just a spirit! The book said it could help me!"

Magic flickered at Solas's fingertips, and Valara knew his intent was to kill. Solas felt nothing but white-hot rage as he prepared a killing blow. However, a soft voice was able to penetrate his hatred.

"Solas..." Valara pleaded.

With difficultly, Solas let the magic falter. "Never again," he growled at the mage.

The mage fled, and Solas snapped at Valara. "I need some time alone. I will meet you back at Skyhold." And he marched swiftly away.

* * *

The ruin was old, quiet, and secluded. Solas tried to sleep within the crumbling monument, but his rage and frustration made it impossible. He hated that Valara stopped him from killing that mage; truly, hotly, hated it. The mage was of no use to this world or the world he would restore. He did not deserve to live. Valara's endless compassion was so frustratingly consistent. If he wasn't so grief-stricken at the moment he would admire it, but it felt like a personal attack.

Letting the mage live had left him feeling so vulnerable, and yet he had let him go all because Valara had simply asked. What did his strength and pride mean if they could be undone so easily?

Solas groaned heavily. He couldn't blame Valara for her actions, as much as he tried. It would have been convenient if he could hate her for this and end his attachment, but he simply could not think of her so poorly. His respect, admiration, and affection for her had been only more thoroughly secured in his heart.

Facing the reality of his feelings helped him relax a little, and he finally fell asleep. The barren place where his friend used to dwell in the Fade left him alone with his troubled thoughts. Was it worth returning to the Inquisition? His spies were already in place and he could be used elsewhere, he didn't necessarily need to stay with them to work toward regaining his orb.

But then the Anchor was still with Valara. He couldn't take that from her just yet, she needed its abilities to fight Corypheus and his forces. He would stay then...for the Anchor...if Valara accepted him back. She had seen a small part of the Dread Wolf in that confrontation. If she saw what he was capable of...what he had done...what he would _do_.

He clenched his fists. Despite everything, he would return and accept whatever she would allow.

* * *

A week later Valara received news that Solas had returned. She dashed to the steps leading down into the courtyard. Solas walked in with careful deliberation. She met his eyes and descended the stairway.

"Inquisitor," he said in greeting.

"How are you, Solas?"

"It hurts. It always does, but I will survive."

"Thank you for coming back," she said, revealing an underlying fear that he had left for good.

Solas had his reasoning well-rehearsed. "You were a true friend," he recited. "You did everything you could to help. I could hardly abandon you now."

"Where did you go?"

_Hmm, __there's__ that insatiable curiosity. _"I found a quiet spot and went to sleep," he answered. "I visited the place in the Fade where my friend used to be. It's empty, but there are stirrings of energy in the Void. Someday something new may grow there."

"What happens when a spirit dies?"  
"It isn't the same as for mortals. The energy of spirits returns to the Fade. If the idea giving the spirit form is strong, or if the memory has shaped other spirits, it may someday rise again."

"You're saying your friend might come back?"

Her concern was touching. He supposed that these probing questions might normally be off-putting to him, but from her...he missed these conversations. "No, not really. A spirit's natural state is peaceful semi-existence. It is rare to be able to reflect reality. Something similar may reform one day, but it might have a different personality. It would likely not remember me. It would not be the friend I knew."

She paused for a moment, looking softly at him. "The next time you have to mourn, you don't need to be alone."

Solas bowed his head. "It's been so long since I could trust someone."

"I know."

"I'll work on it. And thank you."

* * *

It had only been one week. Once back in Valara's presence, Solas realized how much he had been missing while away. She had been discovering elven runes and incorporating their power into arms and armor with great success. She also had several maps of stars pinned around their collective works in the rotunda, with bits of string mapping out ancient constellations and their corresponding directions on regional maps.

She was so unlike the Dalish he had met before. But if he admitted that he was wrong about her, would he he have to admit that he was wrong about the Dalish? How many other misconceptions did he carry? Perhaps there was an explanation. Maybe exposure to the ancient magic in the anchor had fundamentally changed her somehow. He would have to ask her about it.

While pondering these possibilities, Valara arrived earlier than usual to his desk to begin marking potential shard locations.

He looked up at her. "Inquisitor. I was...do you have a moment?" He gestured for them to leave. He led her to the balcony of his—her chamber. The clear mountain air always cleared his head. Perhaps it could do the same for his heart.

"Is something wrong, Solas?"

"What were you like...before the Anchor?"

She examined her hand.

"Has it affected you?" he suggested. "Changed you in any way? Your mind, your morals, your...spirit?"

She smirked. "If it had, do you really think I'd have noticed?"

He smiled. "No. That's an excellent point.

"Why do you ask?"

He sighed. "You show a wisdom I have not seen since..." _Since Mythal, since the days of the Evanuris. _"...since my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the Fade. You are not what I expected."

"Sorry to disappoint," she teased.

"It's not disappointing, it's..." _Amazing? __Admirable__?_ "Most people are predictable. You have shown subtlety in your actions, a wisdom that goes against everything I expected. If the Dalish could raise someone with a spirit like yours...have I misjudged them?"

"The Dalish didn't make me like this," she asserted fiercely, "The decisions were mine."

"Yes!" _Was there no end to her perceptive reasoning?_ "You are wise to give yourself that due. Although the Dalish, in their fashion, may still have guided you. Perhaps that is it," he said, almost to himself, "I suppose it must be. Most people act with so little understanding of the world. But not you."

He looked at her intensely, and she eyed him askance.

"So what does this mean, Solas?"

His voice lowered. "It means I have not forgotten the kiss."

Momentarily surprised, her face shifted to a satisfied smile. "Good."

She sauntered over to him, and all Solas could think of were his selfish wants. He tried to tear himself away.

"Don't go," she plead softly, taking his arm.

"It would be kinder in the long run. But losing you would..."

He turned swiftly, falling into a void that he knew he could never escape. He wrapped his arms around her and bent her into a deep, passionate kiss. They remained locked for minutes, minutes during which Solas pushed away everything separating them in his mind. Boundaries could be crossed, new plans made, and he could finally succumb to his admiration.

_No, not __mere __admiration, _Solas thought._ There's no point in denying this any longer._

"_Ar lath ma, vhenan_."


	8. Chapter 8

_(It should be noted that the last bit of this chapter has been HEAVILY...er..."inspired" by the fanfic "Volee" by VeroniqueClaire, the best fanfic ever written.)_

**8.**

The Hissing Wastes were just a bunch of nothing and beyond that...more nothing. To make matters worse, the Inquisition had to scout by night or perish from the heat. Yet neither Valara nor Solas seemed to mind the environment much. The cool, quiet nights were refreshing and strangely intimate. When traversing the rocky slopes, Solas often offered his hand for Valara's support. When the winds blew sand into their faces, he blocked the brunt of it from her. On calmer treks, he would claim her hand. It was distressing otherwise to not touch her when she was so close.

To Sera it was positively nauseating to watch. Something had to be done.

"So...you and the Lady Inquisitor. _Interesting_," Sera intoned as they hiked up a sand dune. Solas braced his footing with this staff in one hand and pinched the bridge of his nose with the other.

"Your interest is not my concern."

Sera stuck out her tongue, planting her hands on her hips. "That's all right, because I _meant _boring. The elf always takes the elf so that bumping bits will _mean_ something."

Solas considered a rebuttal, but Sera would say nothing that she did not fully mean. He continued his march, Sera following, Valara taking up the rear a few paces behind.

"It is not a topic for discussion," said Solas, trying to the end the conversation. Sera would have none of that.

"Oh, come on," she prodded, poking Solas in the shoulder. "Drop 'em and rebuild the empire. _Phwoar_!"

Solas gave no reaction.

"What? Nothing?" she whined. "Like I thought, no fun."

"Think what you will. It is clear I am not here for you." With that, Solas paused to allow Valara to catch up. He once again offered his hand to assist her over the crest of the dune.

Sera pouted, then smiled crookedly and turned her attention on Valara.

"I've seen how you look at him...you're in it. Bet he calls out "Elven glory" when he does it."

Valara's eyes widened, and she began coughing suddenly. She smiled through her reddening face, and Sera relished in it. Though he'd never admit it, Solas found himself relishing in it as well. However, he was not a monster, and came to his beloved's rescue.

"Have you ever had any interest in learning magic, Sera?"

She looked about ready to fall back down the dune in shock. "Get off?"

He shrugged, then stroked his chin. "While it has not manifested naturally, there are ways to determine whether arcane gifts lie dormant within you."

The blood drained from Sera's face. "What? Don't make me think about that. I have to sleep at night!"

Solas gave her an innocent smile. "Sleeping would give you the chance to explore the Fade. I could introduce you to spirits."

"Right," Sera said, finally catching on, "you're messing with me on purpose!"

"Why would I do that? It is not as though I know _who_ filled my bedroll with lizards last night."

"Heh. Fair point! That was pretty good," she admitted, all thoughts of ribbing Valara gone. "You can make magic anywhere, Solas? Ever piss it by accident?"

Valara had only just processed the previous conversation. She wasn't quite ready to process the fact that Solas took Sera's question seriously.

"No," he answered. "Wait...no."

"What?" Sera said, surprised and greatly amused. "How would you not remember something like that?"

Solas shrugged. "We were all young once."

Valara and Sera doubled over laughing.

* * *

Preparations for the masquerade had Skyhold in a flurry of motion. Several fine carriages lined the main bridge, people dashed with bolts of fabric, and Josephine had not slept well in a week.

Once again Vivienne and Dorian's services were employed to outfit Valara. Once again they proved themselves quite knowledgeable on how fashion can speak volumes.

The current aesthetic in the Orlesian court was dark, ornate, and somber, with little contrast or vibrancy. The gowns there were meant to reshape the person; to hide and invent with masks, ruffs, fans, and crinolines.

The Inquisition would set themselves apart. All its members—save the Inquisitor herself—would dress alike in practical uniforms, with nothing to distinguish them. Neither rank, gender, nor race divided them in dress, implying unity to their cause. The uniform itself was a bold red with a contrasting blue sash and golden trimmings. They would stand out brightly, with faces boldly unmasked.

For the Inquisitor herself, she would dress quite differently, as they wanted her cemented in the Orlesian court's minds as the Herald of Andraste and not a military leader or a Dalish elf. Her gown was a stark white, simply cut, and tailored to her natural form. She would be both genuine and divine. She could not be ignored.

Both Dorian and Solas took it upon themselves to instruct the Inquisitor in Orlesian dancing. Solas had wanted extra time alone with Valara in such an intimate capacity, but Dorian absolutely refused to be denied, claiming that an apostate mage could not properly instruct an Inquisitor in courtly mannerisms. Solas almost laughed at his claim. Dorian didn't have half the courtly experience Solas had, but he relented quietly. Time was running short anyway, and he had his own spies to secure at this event.

* * *

Though every soul in the Winter Palace, from the Empress to the lowliest servant, had a hidden agenda tonight, Solas flattered himself that he had spun the greatest web of agents at this event.

He stationed himself where he could keep watch over several rooms and the courtyard, which allowed him the extra privilege of keeping watch over Valara. He smiled fondly, taking pride in her adept manipulation of the Game. He had always enjoyed watching Valara fight; the grace with which she moved and the intricate magic she wove would make it look like a dance, were it not for the fire in her eyes. It was no different here. Though she fought with words instead of a staff, she wielded them just as gracefully, and with just as much fire.

Cole came in from the courtyard, holding a small cake and staring wide-eyed at everything around him. He approached Solas, eager to share what he had observed since arriving.

"...and the Inquisitor," he noticed. "She is bright."

Solas chuckled. "Yes, she does rather stand out."

Cole shook his head. "No...I mean yes, she does, but...she's bright...too bright. Like counting birds against the sun. The mark makes her more. But past it...she reaches across, mindful, meaning. She makes things real. Her blood is not blood, a tiny trace of time. Lips struggling to the shape a language you lived."

Solas nodded as Cole spoke, grateful that the spirit's cryptic words masked his impressive—and often dangerous—insight.

"You are quiet, Solas," Cole noted.

"Unless I have something to say, yes."

"No, inside. I don't hear your hurt as much. Your song is softer, subtler, not silent but still."

The elf sighed. "How small the pain of one man seems when weighed against the endless depths of memory, of feeling, of existence. That ocean carries everyone. And those of us who learn to see its currents move through life with their fewer ripples."

"There is pain though, still within you," Cole persisted.

"And I never said that there was not."

Cole cocked his head to the side, peering at his friend. "You don't need to envy me, Solas. You can find happiness in your own way."

Solas shook his head. "I apologize for disturbing you, Cole. I am not a spirit, and sometimes it is hard to remember such simple truths."

"They are not gone so long as you remember them."

"I know."

"But you could let them go."

"I know that as well."

Valara entered from the courtyard and sauntered casually them, careful to keep more distance between her and her elven "servant" than she normally would. She opened her mouth to speak, but Cole still had one more point to make.

"You didn't do it to be right. You did it to save them."

Valara looked confused. "Solas, what is Cole talking about?"

"A mistake," Solas explained vaguely. "One of many made by a much younger elf who was certain he knew everything."

"You weren't wrong, though," Cole argued.

"Thank you, Cole."

The lad left to explore the minds of others, and Solas turned his attention to take in Valara with rapture.

"I do adore the heady blend of power, intrigue, danger, and sex that permeates these events."

He had hoped she would blush, and he wasn't disappointed. Nevertheless, she quickly recovered and threw on a courtly expression of subtle arrogance. "You seem more comfortable with a grand Orlesian ball than I'd have expected."

He haughtily waved off her observation. "I have seen countless such displays—in my journeys in the Fade," he added. "The powerful have always been the same. Only the costumes change. Yours, incidentally, is one of the better I've seen."

Instead of her usual smile to his compliments, she merely turned up her nose as though the observation was obvious. In a lower voice, she asked, "Have you encountered any trouble with the nobles?"

He answered back in kind. "The Orlesians do not quite know what to make of me," he murmured. "I have kept to myself, for fear of giving them some purchase to cling to. The food and drink are excellent, however, and the servants have been happy to refill my glass."

"Have you seen anything useful?"

"No, sadly. I do not have the look of one of the elven servants, or I might well be invisible. I wonder how masked men live their lives without ever seeing that servants have an entire society of their own? If you want to find something useful, I would pay attention to what the servants do."

"Noted." She paused, looking at the dance floor with some curiosity. "Do you have any interest in dancing?"

_With you? More than Dorian did, I'm sure. _"A great deal...although dancing with an elven apostate would win you few favors with the court. Perhaps once our business here is done?"

"I'll be back."

"Hunt well," he toasted with an upheld glass.

* * *

Celene's occult advisor—whom he had an agent monitoring—had just left Valara alone on one of the palace balconies. She leaned on the railing on her forearms, head bowed. It had been an eventful evening. Solas especially enjoyed watching Valara verbally destroy Florianne in front of the whole court. Clever, bold, it was a fitting culmination for the evening.

Still, he knew Valara too well to expect her inside basking in victory. Though throngs of people were wanting to sing her praises and ask for favors, she needed some solitude. Solas paused by the doorway for a moment, wondering if he should leave her to her thoughts. Ah, but they had unfinished business here tonight, did they not? He joined her on the balcony, their shoulders just touching.

"I'm not surprised to find you out here," he said. "Thoughts?"

She sighed heavily. "It's been a very long day." She pushed herself up, stretching her neck. Solas reached out to stroke her back comfortingly.

"For everyone, I would imagine. It's nearly over now. Cullen's giving the men their marching orders as we speak."

Inside, they could hear the scuffle of several people making their final goodbyes and the click of a baton signaling the last song of the masquerade.

"Come, before the band stops playing, dance with me."

Solas backed a pace to bow before her, hand outstretched and inviting. She took it. Through her exhaustion, there was a spark of enjoyment. "I'd love to."

He tugged at her hand, bringing her close. Instead of the structured waltzes and flamboyant galliards she had been tutored in the past few days, he merely shifted his weight from foot to foot, slowly bringing them around in the circle. This dance was not about form or presentation, but simply to enjoy their closeness.

"There are spirits hovering by the Veil to observe the thrones of powerful nations," he whispered in her ear. "The machinations, betrayals... I had forgotten how I missed court intrigue."

She chuckled quietly. "I'm pleased you had a good time."

"Political gambits, broken promises, half-truths?" he spun her once. "It is a palace full of motivation. And motivation is where great things happen. In any event, Celene should now be a steadfast ally, especially after helping her neutralize Briala."

Valara pulled back slightly to look Solas in the eyes. "Am I sensing concern over how we dealt with Briala?"

"No? Why would I disapprove of...oh, because she's an elf? I'm sorry, I was confused. I do not consider myself to have much in common with elves."

She almost laughed, knowing full well he didn't have much fondness for any group of people, let alone elves. "Who _do _you have much in common with?" she teased.

"A good question," he answered, perhaps a bit too sadly. He pulled her closer, and she rested her head on his chest. "I joined the Inquisition to save the world," Solas said quietly, "regardless of who 'my people' are, this was the best way to help them. As for the elves of Orlais, Briala did what she could. She was an admirable woman, even if her gambit failed."

"_You're_ an admirable man. Not many people know who they are the way you do."

They kept swaying in their circular pattern, and Solas found it difficult to speak. "Thank you. Both for saying that and...for seeing that. Few in this world can see me." Solas felt the buzz of alcohol dull his judgment, but couldn't find it in himself to care. "It is a new experience for me, being known," he continued. "Most of my life I've been more of a persona than a person."

"I know you," she assured him. "You are a gifted mage, but that is the least interesting thing about you." He blinked in surprise, silently hoping she would continue. "You are a brilliant man," she began, "brilliant at everything, really. It makes you impatient with the less experienced, but you like teaching and you like it when I learn something new. You like to present yourself as cold, calculating, hyper-rational, and detached, and yet you are the most passionate person I've ever met. It's thrilling to see you excited about something, because to you the point of being alive is to feel strongly about the things you love, to see glory in a well written verse, a beautifully cast spell, or a singular moment in time."

She lifted her head and looked into his eyes. For a long moment the only sound was their quickening breath. Solas stared at her in silence and adoration. He didn't know how to respond, to feel...to _exist_. Their slow dance had halted, and they drew nearer—

"Inquisitor! Ah, my apologies." Cullen stood in the balcony doorway. "Your carriage is ready, if your serving man is ready to escort you...?"

Momentarily taken aback, the two elves made their way with forced formality into the waiting carriage. Once inside, however, Valara leaned her head on Solas's shoulder, and he allowed himself one moment of peace.

* * *

Solas finished his depiction of the events at Halamshiral in the rotunda, capturing Valara's victory in brokering peace between Celene, Gaspard, and Briala. He heard footsteps approaching, and his heart quickened, hoping it was Valara, but...no, these steps were slower, deliberate...predatory. He turned and found Vivienne's face wrinkling in disapproval at his disheveled, paint-splattered self.

"I do hope you were not mistaken for a servant at the Winter Palace, Solas," she drawled.

"Such mistakes are opportunities in disguise," he said with forced patience. "Nobles say things around servants they would never say to the Inquisitor," he turned toward her, "or you."

"Yes," she agreed, "anyone who wishes to play the Game learns to use her servants effectively. Although I am surprised to see an elven apostate catch on so quickly."

"My apologies," he forced out through gritted teeth. "I shall try to live down to your expectations."

She shook her head in exaggerated shock, "You mistake me, Solas, I only meant to offer instruction in proper magical attacks. It won't do to have an apostate constantly in the presence of our Inquisitor, should you encounter anything outside your experience."

"I will try, in my own fumbling way, to learn from how you helped seal the rifts at Haven. Ah, wait. My memory misleads me. You were not there."

"A pity, that. I might have led Valara to sounder paths than the one she took. It is disappointing to see those lingering looks passing between you two. It is positively nauseating."

"It is positively outside your area of concern. Perhaps you should focus your manipulative arts on something that _does_ concern you, such as the fate of your fellow enchanters."

"Ah yes, you must be pleased, apostate. With the Templars dissolved, your rebels will be most difficult to pacify."

"_My_ rebels? Am I an agent for their cause, whispering poison into the Inquisition's ears? How comforting."

"You enjoy seeing yourself as a villain?" she said a little too eagerly.

"No more than any other clever man who wonders what he could do if pushed," he looked to her pointedly. "But I meant you, Enchanter. How comforting it must be for _you_ to see a traitor helping the rebels from within. You need never concern yourself with the possibility that your Circle was wrong."


	9. Chapter 9

**9.**

As the months crawled by, Solas realized he had been mistaken when he thought Valara a gifted mage. The wisdom with which she led, the purity of her heart, and focus of her mind put any Dalish to shame. It put any of the Evanuris to shame.

This realization only made Solas bitter. Why couldn't she have lived in his time? Surely she would have been among the Evanuris. Even Mythal would have struggled to be her equal. If they had met in the courts of Arlathan, if the Evanuris had not been so corrupted...

"Solas? Are you alright?" Valara placed her hand on his arm, which he now realized was tense. He relaxed, exhaling slowly.

"I apologize, I was thinking about how much knowledge has been lost to our people." He nodded toward the ancient elven glyphs they were studying. She bowed her head in sorrow but went back to her sketch of the pattern.

"You know what I like about you, Chuckles?" asked Varric, interrupting their solemnity. "Your boundless optimism."

"It's comforting that whatever qualities I lack, you'll invent for me, Varric," noted Solas.

Valara started chuckling. "No, really," Varric persisted, "why else would an elven apostate help crazy Chantry folk close a hole in the sky?"

Solas raised his eyebrows in acceptance. "When you put it like that, I must concede your point."

"And you, Inquisitor," Varric continued, "I still don't have a name for you."

Valara scoffed. "I have too many names already, Varric, just pick one of those. There's Valara, Lavellan, Dalish, First to the Keeper, the Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor, Head Boss-lady What's-in-Charge..."

Varrick gave a double-take. "Who calls you _that_?"

"Sera."

"Ah. Well none of those will do. They don't do you justice. You need a name that fully encompasses all that you are to Thedas."

Valara looked at Varric with a lot of skepticism and a little fear. "Oh no, what did you have in mind?"

"Something big. Something that describes the international phenomenon you have become..."

Solas and Valara looked to Varric expectantly.

"Stormy."

Neither of his companions spoke or reacted in any way.

"It's a work in progress," Varric reasoned.

* * *

Solas marched stiffly. It turns out that he had been right all along. The Dalish were backwards, crude, and simple brutes who played at knowledge and wisdom as an infant would play with a sword. They were ignorant fools, mangling the traditions, language, and heritage of their ancestors.

Valara had been so earnest in studying the elven glyphs and ruins in the Exalted Plains. Her insatiable desire to learn and discover had been so endearing. But upon reaching the local Dalish camp they condemned her, saying she had violated the legacy of their people with her explorations.

After all she had done. After all she had studied, preserved, and fought for, this obstinate Keeper would not give her one iota of respect. She had done nothing but aid these people.

"Solas!" Valara called, oblivious to his rage. "Solas, come here, look at this!"

Grumbling he worked his way across the stream and looked to where she pointed. A giant stone statue of a wolf stood guard over a waterfall framed by thick trees.

"Is that supposed to be Fen'Harel? It doesn't look anything like our statue of him in Clan Lavellan."

Solas swallowed, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. "I would postulate that each clan has their own interpretation of him, just as each clan has diverging vallaslin designs."

"That makes sense, but..." She drifted off into maddening silent thought. Solas had to know what she was thinking.

"But what?" he urged.

She narrowed her eyes at the stonework. "Every statue I've seen of Fen'Harel has been a small, impermanent thing, meant to be carried with the traveling clans. They also usually show him baring his teeth. This was obviously meant to be a permanent fixture, and looks calm...serene, even, like he's meant to be a guard instead of a warning."

"An interesting analysis. What do you suppose that means?" Solas felt his breathing quicken, anxiously awaiting her thoughts.

"Could...could this..." She turned abruptly to look him in the eye, "Solas, the legends of the elven gods, do you think they are literal or figurative?"

"Figurative, assuming they can be taken seriously at all."

"I _knew_ it!" she shouted triumphantly.

Solas stood agape. She continued, ecstatic. "For years I had tried discussing alternate interpretations of our oral traditions," she explained. "Surely Fen'Harel didn't literally bite his own tail off. That must have been a representation of something else entirely, otherwise he's not much of a trickster, is he, assuming he's a trickster at all."

Solas could have collapsed on the cold ground in surprise. He could not believe his ears, and tried to hide his dumbfounded shock behind a few coughs. Steadying his breathing, he asked as calmly as he could manage, "If not a trickster, what could Fen'Harel be?"

"My theories changed by the day when I was young," she laughed, "One day he was a misunderstood hero, the next an embodiment of all that is evil. But I read Tavernier's _Trea__t__y on the Pagan and Heretical Customs of the Elven_, and it seems that "harel" could imply a traitor, a struggle, opposition, deception, or rebellion. I'm certain that he was clever, but exactly what he might have been rebelling against, I have no idea. But this stonework likely predates the Dalish as a nomadic people, and is therefore older than the current renditions of the god. His story has likely been warped over time."

Solas wanted for all the world to rush to her and kiss her senseless. Instead he swallowed hard. "Regardless, it is wise of you to question established tradition and find your own answers."

A flicker of an idea sparked in Solas's mind. A brief flash of hope that would nag at him and grow from that point onward. Perhaps...perhaps he could tell her. It would have to be handled carefully, so as to not disturb the progress of his organization or the Inquisition, to say nothing of her own personal reaction to the truth. But denying this truth to her wasn't fair to her or himself.

But perhaps it was better this way. That she love him for who is now instead of the idea of the Dread Wolf, if such a thing could even be loved?

* * *

"Dying alone," the mock gravestone said. An overly theatrical attempt by the Nightmare demon to break their spirits, but it did affect Solas more than he cared to admit. But that clarifying revelation was nothing to the utter betrayal he felt upon their arrival back in the waking world.

Valara had been so utterly _foolish_. Surely such outright stupidity was beyond her, yet he had seen with his own eyes her declaration that the Grey Wardens should remain with the Inquisition. He couldn't hold back when she came to him back at Skyhold.

"I cannot believe the Grey Wardens would even conceive of such a plan!" he snapped at her. "To seek out these Old Gods deliberately in some bizarre attempt to preempt the Blight."

"I know," she said quietly.

"Responsibility is not expertise," Solas continued lecturing, "action is not inherently superior to inaction—"

"Solas," she said calmly, almost in a whisper. "I've sent the Grey Wardens to battle the darkspawn hordes in southwestern Orlais. They will not survive. I've all but sentenced them to death. They will not corrupt the Inquisition."

Looking at her, Solas felt ashamed. Her face was drawn, like she had not slept since they had returned from the Fade. She did not make this decision as lightly as he had thought, and he should have trusted more in her.

"Forgive me," he asked. "The entire idea is...unnerving. I've been on my own for so long. It's difficult to get used to having the support of others."

"And yet you have it."

"As you have mine."


	10. Chapter 10

**10.**

More had been preserved in the Temple of Mythal than Solas would have expected. It was revitalizing seeing remnants of his world still existing, though with that came feelings of extreme trepidation. What would they find? What would she learn?

Ahead stood a large stele partially obscured by overgrown vines. Valara pulled some of the overgrowth aside to inspect the relic.

"Ancient elven. I can't make out much," she admitted.

Solas came up behind her. "'_Atish'all vir abelsan_.' It means 'Enter the path of the Well of Sorrows.'"

Morrigan added her own interpretation. "There is something about knowledge. Respectful or pure. _Shiven, shivennen_... 'Tis all I can translate. That it mentions the Well is a good omen."

Valara sighed. "We're out of luck unless one of those temple elves drops a lexicon."

Morrigan ignored her. It was incredibly irritating how this witch disregarded anything he or Valara—actual elven mages—had to say on elven history.

"Supplicants to Mythal would have first paid obeisance here. Following their path may aid entry."

Solas inwardly debated whether or not he should lend aid in riddling out the puzzles of the temple, seeing as he was here when it was built, but found quickly that he needn't worry. Valara caught on to the mechanics of the temple and solved them quickly. It was gratifying to watch his heart thrive in a piece of his forgotten world, even though it lay in ruins.

Among those ruins was a representation Fen'Harel. Solas froze, which thankfully went unnoticed by his companions who marched ahead of him.

"Why would _this_ be here?" Morrigan asked. Solas ignored her as she launched into another condescending lecture, instead focusing on Valara. She stared intensely at the statue.

"Setting Fen'Harel in Mythal's greatest sanctum is as blasphemous as painting Andraste naked in the Chantry," Valara noted. Solas smiled at that. She had come such a long way from her ignorant origins. "In Dalish clans these statues are meant to frighten harmful spirits; one of their superstitions."

The way she phrased that, using "their" and not "our". Did she not still consider herself Dalish?

Morrigan pursed her lips. "I thought ancient elves above quaint superstitions."

"For all your 'knowledge', Lady Morrigan," Solas said, "you cannot resist giving legend the weight of history. The wise do not mistake one for the other."

Morrigan haughtily threw back her head. "Pray tell, what meaning does our elven 'expert' sense lurking behind this?"

"None we can discern by staring at it."

That was the start of many arguments of elvish lore between the three of them. It came to a breaking point when Valara and Morrigan argued about the nature of the goddess Mythal. He steadfastly refused to add to this debate. Truth practically seeped out of every corner of these ruins, and the fear of revealing his true self felt too close at hand. Yet despite his best efforts, his frustration with Morrigan's lack of knowledge and his yearning to teach Valara led to some slips now and then. When he shared information about the elven deities lost to time, it was gratifying to see Morrigan humbled and Valara excited.

Eventually, they reached the interior of the temple, where dozens of Mythal's ancient sentinels greeted them with taut bows and ready arrows. Valara, as always, spoke diplomatically and calmly explained their situation. Naturally Abelas, the leader of the sentinels, refused to consider her request for further entry.

"Solas, perhaps he'll listen to you," Valara whispered to him.

"What shall I say, Inquisitor? Shall I sway him from a millennia of service by virtue of our shared blood? He clings to all that remains of his world, because he lacks the power to restore it." _Much like myself, right now._

But Valara did not despair so readily as he did. "Our people have lost everything," she told Abelas. "They need you. They could learn from you!"

"'Our' people?" Abelas asked contemptuously. Solas bristled. He understood Abelas's initial reservations, but Valara deserved more. Abelas continued, "The ones we see in the forest, shadows wearing _vallaslin_? You are _not _my people."

Valara winced, visibly stung. Why is it that so many people would accept Valara, but never her own?

Abelas shook his head. "And you have invaded our sanctum as readily as the shemlen."

"We knew this place was sacred," Valara explained. "We've respected it as best we could."

_That_, finally, seemed to get through to the elven sentinel. He nodded. "I believe you. Trespassers you are, but you have followed rites of petition. You have shown respect to Mythal. If these others are enemies of yours, we will aid you in destroying them. When this is done, you shall be permitted to depart...and never return."

Morrigan looked positively savage upon hearing this ultimatum, and Solas stiffened. "This is our goal, is it not?" he reminded her. "There is no reason to fight these Sentinels."

"As for the _vir'abelasan_," Abelas continued, "it shall not be despoiled, even if I have to destroy it myself."

"No!" cried Morrigan, who in a flash morphed into a bird to pursue Abelas into an upper courtyard.

In too short a time, it all come down to the Well. It had not only survived intact, but had grown in its power. That confirmed his suspicions that Mythal was indeed still living, somehow. He should have been elated that something so powerful crossed his path, but the situation was one he could not win.

They couldn't simply destroy the Well. It's power should be in their hands, if only to keep it from Corypheus. But Solas knew that it couldn't be him to claim that power; it would force him to reveal his hand in these events. He cringed to think of Morrigan drinking. She was a glutton in search of power and could not be trusted. But Valara...

No. No, there had to be another way. But as she argued with Morrigan he could offer no rebuttal, and he watched helplessly as she stepped cautiously into the Well. She slowly cupped her hands to lift the water to her lips. She drank and—

A cry of pain and she collapsed unconscious into the water. Magic pulled into her body, draining the pool of it's airy liquid.

"Inquisitor? Inquisitor! Valara!" Solas rushed into the now empty well, dropping by her crumpled form. Her eyes flew open and she stood shakily. Though she clutched her head in pain, she held up a hand to signal she was alright.

"How..." Solas began, unsure how to phrase his concern. "...do you feel?"

_What does she know? _He thought in terror. _How much has see seen? Does she know who I am?_

She brushed past him without answering.

* * *

Normally painting calmed Solas. Though a complex process that required precision timing, the frescos allowed him to focus on something that wouldn't shake the foundations of existence. Today, though, it forced him to relive one of the more horrific things he'd yet witnessed. Now finished, the rotunda now featured elven sentinals standing guard around the Well of Sorrows.

As he examined his dry, finished work, Valara entered quietly.

"I begged you not to drink from the Well," he said, his back to her. "Why could you not have listened?"

"Solas..." Her voice shook.

He spun around, eyes sharp. "You gave yourself into the service of an ancient elven god!"

She stood her ground. "What does that mean, exactly?"

"You are Mythal's creature now," he lamented. _And that__ complicates __things__ considerably. _"Everything you do, whether you know it or not, will be for her. You have given up a part of yourself." In the days of Arlathan, he had served Mythal, respected her as the wisest of the Evanuris. But she was not without guile. She could manipulate people like she manipulated magic. She could be wise, yes, but also ruthless. And now that he knew a part of Mythal still survived, it deeply troubled him to see his love bound to that goddess's service.

"You don't even believe in the ancient elven gods!" Valara snapped.

"I don't believe they were gods, no, but I believe that they existed! Something existed to start the legends! If not gods, then mages, or spirits, or something we've never seen." He bowed his head, rubbing his forehead. Valara remained silent, shocked by Solas's outburst. He looked up into her eyes with bitter regret. "And you are bound to one of them now. I suppose it is better you have the power than Corypheus, which leads to the next logical question: what will you do with the power of the Well once Corypheus is dead?"

Valara did not hesitate. "The war proved that we can't go back to the way things were. I'll try to help this world move forward."

"You would risk everything you have in the hope that the future is better?" _Just as __I did once. _"What if it isn't? What if you wake up to find that the future you shaped is worse than what was?"

She handled the dilemma much more flippantly than the weight he was putting into the question called for. "I'll take a breath, see where things went wrong, and then try again."

"Just like that?" he said sardonically.

She nodded gravely. "If we don't keep trying, we'll never get it right."

He smiled. "You're right. Thank you."

Her brow furrowed. "For what?"

"You have not been what I expected Inquisitor. You have...impressed me. You have offered hope that if one keeps trying, even if the consequences are grave...that someday, things will be better."

Sighing, Solas took her hand in his. "Forgive my melancholy," he said. "Corypheus has cost us much. The Temple of Mythal did not deserve such a fate. The orb he carries, and its stolen power...that, at least, we may still recover. With luck, some of the past may yet survive."

A spark of mischief shone in her eyes and she smirked. "You're being grim and fatalistic in the hope of getting me into bed, aren't you?"

He took it in stride. "I _am _grim and fatalistic. Getting you into bed is just an enjoyable side benefit."

To think that he had been so irritated to find a Dalish holding a fragment of his Orb's power. This singular Dalish, whom he assumed would falter under that power, had used it admirably and wisely. She had become his student, his friend, and his heart. The knowledge that he kept so much of himself from her had now become a pain nearly physical. As a member of the Inquisition, he owed her the truth of his involvement with Corypheus. As a friend, he owed her the truth of his organization and their goals. As his heart, he owed her the truth of who he was.

And so the time came.

"Come with me, _vhenan_."

* * *

The night was clear and calm, with mist swirling around a clear pool. They walked hand in hand in companionable silence. Solas could feel his heart quicken in anticipation. He searched for a way to break the stillness.

"The Veil is thin here. Can you feel it on your skin, tingling?" He pulled on her hand to bring her around to face him. She did not answer, but kept her eyes on him. He reached up stroke her face. "I was trying to determine some way to show you what you mean to me," he explained, rehearsing the line he had mentally practiced for days before, but not quite knowing where to go from there. He drew his hand away, and Valara touched the place his hand had left, missing its absence.

She shakily laughed. "I'm listening, and I can offer a few suggestions."

He grinned at the thought. "I share bear that in mind." _But not now, you fool. You came here for a reason. __F__ocus. _"For now, the best gift I can offer is...the truth." Solas felt his mouth go dry. "You are unique," he explained. "In all Thedas, I never expected to find someone who could draw my attention from the Fade. You have become important to me, more important than I could have imagined."

She looked up at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly open, breathless. "As you are to me," she proclaimed.

Solas swallowed. _Then it begins. _"Then what I must tell you..." _there is no going back from this moment. _"...the truth..."

He...he couldn't do it. She looked at him, curious and trusting, not suspecting the horrible truth of what he was. How could he burden her with that knowledge? How could he risk it? There wasn't anything that he could reveal that wouldn't crush some part of her conception of who she was. Maybe...maybe just a part of it? One facet that would improve her outlook instead of crush it?

"Your face," he explained in a rush. "The _vallaslin_. In my journeys in the Fade, I have seen things. I have discovered what those marks mean."

"They honor the elven gods," she said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. He shook his head.

"No. They are slave markings, or least, they were in the time of ancient Arlathan."

She drew in a quick breath. "My clan's Keeper said they honored the gods. These are their symbols."

"Yes. That's right. A noble would mark his slaves to honor the god he worshiped. After Arlathan fell, the Dalish forgot."

"So this is...what?" she asked in a strained voice. "Just one more thing the Dalish got wrong?"

_What have I done? __This was a mistake. I never told her this before, why would I have taken her to a secluded glen to explain that her face had been marred by customs of slavery? This is cruel._ "I'm sorry," he said, wishing the paltry apology could wipe away what he had just done. It did nothing to stop her shuddering breath and glistening eyes.

"We try to preserve our culture, and this is what we keep?" She says in a slow, weary voice. She looked at Solas with eyes impossibly sad. "Relics of a time when we were no better than Tevinter?"

"Don't say that," he said sternly. "For all they got wrong, the Dalish did one thing right."

She looks confused.

"They made _you_," he clarified. "I didn't tell you this to hurt you. If you like, I know a spell..."

She looked aside, avoiding his gaze.

"I can remove the _vallaslin_," he offered.

They were silent. Valara sighed deeply. At last she looked back to him. "...if what you're saying is true..."

"It is."

"Then..." her eyes narrowed fiercely and she looked to him with conviction. "My people vowed never to submit to slavery."

"I'm so sorry for causing you pain. It was selfish of me. I look at you, and I see what you truly are. And you deserve better than what those cruel marks represent."

"Then cast your spell. Take the _vallaslin_ away."

A lifetime's worth of belief, an excruciating bloodwriting ritual, and she was ready to cast it aside at his word. He felt a little overwhelmed himself. "Sit," he instructed.

She knelt by the spring, and he across from her. The spell was really quite simple, and required a quick wave of the hand to perform. But this was not one of a horde of slaves to be freed hastily. This was his love, who up until moments ago believed her markings to be a symbol of her heritage. Slowly, he summoned veilfire to his palms and lifted them to her face. She looked apprehensive, but remained in place, giving him a nod to continue. He brought his hands across her face, painlessly removing her _vallaslin_. Once removed, the fire faded, but his hands remained on either side of her face. "_Ar lasa mala revas_. You are free."

He took her hands, pulling her to stand with him. He held fast to her hands, and kept his gaze locked on her unmarred face. He knew he was staring, but couldn't bring himself to look away, even when she looked away, embarrassed. She ducked her head, feeling exposed.

"You are so beautiful." It wasn't so much a reassurance for her than an obvious fact to him. Now she looked as she would have in his time. Free, unmarked, a leader. He needed her closer, and pulled her into a kiss. She wrapped her arms around him, and his hands ventured to explore her curves.

This is what he wanted. This was worth anything. He could do this, lose himself and forget the past. He could abandon his mission, and she would never need to know...

He pulled away suddenly. She looks at him trustingly, still ignorant of what he is. He was betraying her, as well as himself. All that he has dedicated himself to had come to a breaking point and something had to be sacrificed. He must confess everything, or his emotions had to be cut off now.

"And I am sorry," he says stiffly. "I distracted you from your duty. It will never happen again."

"Solas..." she says in surprise, her arms loosening their grasp.

It took monumental effort to put a single step between them, but Solas forced himself to move. "Please, vhenan," he begged, though even he was not sure what he was begging for. _Please stop me? Please let me go?_

"Solas..." she repeats, her voice wavering, "don't leave me. Not now." She closed the distance between them. "I love you."

He exhaled forcefully at the declaration which tears at him, but continues moving backward, shaking his head and breathing out, "You have a rare and marvelous spirit. In another world—"

"—why not this one?" she countered, trying to take his hand. He puts his palms out to stop her and she freezes.

"I _can't_, I'm sorry." is all he can say in explanation. That is the best he can offer her. Knowing there was nothing left for them, he turns and forces himself to leave, not looking back.


	11. Chapter 11

**11.**

It was a very long, solitary journey back to Skyhold. Valara stayed with the Inquisition forces in Crestwood for a time. Solas felt relieved and pained that she had others to rely on, to lend her the comfort that he could not give.

The pain of losing his spirit friend months earlier did not prepare him for the torment he now felt. Rather than having some external problem he could focus his hatred upon, his frustrations all came back to upon himself. He never should have let himself become so attached. He never should have led her on a hopeless path.

When she returned, she did not come to the rotunda. When she went on missions, she did not invite him. This...this was a good thing. He finally had time to focus on tasks that he had put off for far too long. His own organization lacked focus with him in the Inquisition.

This was good.

This was torture.

* * *

When she finally came to the rotunda, he froze, desperately trying to remember what he had rehearsed. He looked up, but did not meet her eyes.

"Inquisitor. How may I help you prepare for our final battle?"

"I'd like to discuss what happened before, Solas." She spoke evenly, but anger, hurt, and betrayed simmered beneath her words.

"I'm afraid that wouldn't be appropriate at this time," he recited. "We must focus on what truly matters. Harden your heart to a cutting edge, and put that pain to good use against Corypheus."

"It would help me if you could explain why."

He shook his head. "The answers would only lead to more questions, an emotional entanglement that would benefit neither of us." His posture softened, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "The blame is mine, not yours. It was irresponsible and selfish of me. Let that be enough."

Her breath quickened. "You really don't let anybody see under that polite mask you wear, do you?" Her voice wavered, almost as though on the verge of tears.

"You saw more than most." Solas clenched his teeth together and straightened, resuming his earlier stiffness. "Let me know if I can be of any more help in planning our final fight."

She walked out angrily but halted at the doorway. Solas waited with baited breath for what she would do or say next. Without looking back, she said, "I've found the Forbidden Oasis and I'll need your help finding the temple there. We're leaving at dawn." She marched away.

* * *

Finally, after months of research, the Forbidden Oasis had been found. A beautiful hidden paradise in the Orlesian deserts. Both Solas and Valara tried to find joy in this discovery, but it was incredibly painful to be in such close proximity again. Once while scaling a rocky slope, Solas reflexively offered his hand to Valara, who pointedly ignored his aid. He snatched his hand back, ashamed.

Their taciturn melancholy had the whole party on edge. Solas, Cassandra, Valara, and Cole hiked through the many labyrinthine tunnels in silence. Cassandra tried her best to make conversation, though like many of her attempts to be sociable, it backfired.

"I've noticed that your tattoos have been removed. I admit, I know little of their meaning, but I did not think it was possible to remove Dalish tattoos."

Valara swallowed and looked away, trying to find some way to explain. _She shouldn't have to,_ Solas thought. "Most Dalish would agree with you," he explained, "and see little value in doing so."

"Then how—"

Valara cut her off. "It was done in a...private moment. I would rather not discuss it."

Cassandra looked to Valara, who refused to make eye contact. Bowing her head, Cassandra apologized. "Of course, I should not have asked."

"But you wanted to know," Cole pointed out. "And they still hurt. _Ar lasa mala revas_. You are so beautiful. But then you turned away. Why?"

Solas kept his head bowed. "I had no choice."

"She is bare-faced, embarrassed, and she doesn't know. She thinks it's because of her."

"You cannot heal this, Cole. Please, let it go."

Cole turned to Valara. "He hurts, an old pain from before, when everything sang the same. You're real, and it means everyone could be real. It changes everything, but it can't."

To his relief and regret, Valara was not putting her keen mind to deciphering Cole's cryptic truths. "I would rather not discuss it, Cole." She marched ahead of them, putting some distance between them.

"I'm sorry," Cole apologized to her retreating form. Solas stood beside him.

"It was my doing, not yours."

* * *

This was agony. Alone, Valara had rushed into the Eluvian. Alone, she had found Mythal—Flemeth—and the goddess had forced her to act violently against a friend. Now that she needed to summon Mythal's dragon to aid in their fight against Corypheus, Solas would be damned if he let her face this alone as well.

They searched the Arbor Wilds, following Valara and the instincts she had gained from drinking at the Well. They arrived at a secluded glen surrounded by stone ruins.

"It's here," Valara said. "I can feel it."

"Yes," Solas agreed. "I feel it as well." Her senses had grown so keen.

Inside the glen a crumbling shrine featured a statue of Mythal covered with ivy.

"This is all that's left of the altar," Valara said. She examined the shrine, noticing ancient elven characters carved into the stone. Solas opened his mouth to offer a translation, but she spoke first. "'We few who travel far, call to me, and I will come. Without mercy, without fear.'"

"'Cry havoc in the moonlight, let the fire of vengeance burn, the cause is clear,'" he finished. His breath caught in his throat. Without his aid, she had continued studying the language alone. Though she had translated just a single line of text, to him it was an indication of all she had become. She was a mage of extreme talent and formidable knowledge. She truly did not need his instruction anymore. The only thing he could offer her was the truth of who he was, and he had been too cowardly to give it. "A very old invocation," he said softly, "perfectly translated."

"Strange that there wasn't an altar like this at Mythal's temple," Valara noted. "The temple was a place of justice, but this...is different." Her keen eyes sparked. "This was where the elves called to her. _Spoke _to her. Then one day she disappeared, and they had no one to speak to."

Blackwall looked terribly uncomfortable. "This ritual...should we leave you alone?"

Solas could have maimed him for suggesting such an idea. Thankfully, Valara disregarded it.

"No. Definitely stay." She backed away from the shrine, facing the open sky. "I'm here, Flemeth. Just as you told me. If I must master a dragon to fight Corypheus, then send it."

No sooner had the words left her mouth, Mythal's dragon came swooping into the glade. Electricity sparked around Valara's staff, which she spun into a guarding stance. Her eyes were fearless. She was absolutely beautiful.

Once the dragon had been subdued, Blackwall approached to deliver a killing blow. Valara stopped him, and she stepped up the dragon slowly with hands extended. Solas kept close to her side, ready to defend her should this be a trap. The dragon roared in her face, but Valara barely flinched. Instead, the essence of the Well visually manifested as smoky tendrils of glowing energy emanating from Valara and into the dragon's eyes. There was a mutual understanding, and an alliance forged.

* * *

Her breath was deep and steady. Slumped over maps and notes piled on his desk, Solas found her lying there alone. He had been away, as he now often was, to oversee his organization. He approached slowly.

"Valara? Are you still awake?" Solas asked, then immediately shook his head. "No, of course you wouldn't be. You've had a long day."

He sat on the opposite side of the desk, resting his head in his hands. "There was no point to any of this. The Inquisition...you..." He scoffed and said scathingly, "As though telling you everything would somehow be the last of our obstacles."

Solas looked at Valara but said nothing more for several minutes. His breath grew less steady. His wanted to explain everything so badly, but to do so would destroy so much. "Somehow I have done everything wrong," he said, his voice low and exhausted. "But I can't take any of it back just as I can't walk away from my mission. Now I've had a taste of life with you by my side and—this is pathetic." He stood abruptly and began pacing while mumbling to himself.

"I didn't consciously choose to fall in love with you... but the real hell is that I could not have found someone more perfect. It is _terrible_, _vhenan_, to think so highly of another. It is debilitating because it is so much easier to anticipate living the rest of your life in isolation when you don't believe happiness exists."

Solas breathed deeply, struggling to keep his emotions from overwhelming him. "You had such a good and normal life lined up, the future of a Keeper living quite peacefully. But I..." his voice cracked harshly, "I fell in love with you. And I know what that is, now, to _love_ someone...to be humbled at the beauty of your soul, to see bliss painfully and quite _literally_ within reach of my arms..."

He exhaled, frustrated and hopeless. He didn't even notice the tears silently streaming from Valara's eyes.

* * *

Solas stared at the unfinished portion of wall in the rotunda. He had meant for this final section to depict Valara's victory over Corypheus (he'd burn Skyhold to the ground if she were defeated, so planning for a monument to her death in here was rather pointless). But certain facts had to be acknowledged. When Corypheus fought them—and he would—Solas would regain his orb. Once that happened, he'd be back where he was nearly a year ago, before the Inquisition, before Valara. He would have to leave without having confessed anything to the one person in this world that gave him reason to doubt his mission.

To that end, Solas began laying the groundwork for something entirely different in his mural. He couldn't be sure if he wanted Valara to figure it out or not, but he felt better knowing a piece of the truth and his intentions would be left with her, however cryptically.

A large wolf in profile bowed his head over the corpse of a small dragon.

* * *

"Solas?"

"The orb."

"I know you wanted the orb saved. I'm so sorry."

How dare she give him her compassion, after all he'd done to her—would do to her? She had no idea what this meant. To her, this was an impersonal relic better off destroyed. She had no reason to feel sorrow, and yet her voice carried it, for his sake.

"It is not..._your_ fault," Solas said. He stood, letting the orb's shattered remains to fall like the mere pieces of rock they now were. He faced Valara, memorizing everything about her, even disheveled and exhausted she took his breath away.

His stare must have been intense. "There's more, isn't there?" she asked.

"It was not supposed to happen this way," he adamantly told her, on the precipice of revealing everything, begging her to understand. He looked away, refusing to torture himself further. "No matter what comes, I want you to know that what we had was real."

From below, Cassandra called out. "Inquisitor? Are you alive?" Valara left to show herself to the growing crowd of survivors. They looked up at her approaching them with relief. Solas looked to her retreating form with regret.

Of all people at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, it had to be her. It would have been better that she perished quickly in the explosion, better that the orb had fallen to some human noble, a dwarven mercenary, or even a Qunari spy. It would have given him some measure of comfort in what was to come.

His eyes stung, and he gasped for air. At last, he tore himself away.

Solas did not immediately seek out his agents. He wandered the Frostbacks, needing solitude, and hoping the cold might numb his mind and heart. The journey only reminded him of the journey where he first led Valara to Skyhold. Each frozen night reminded him of Valara singing her beautiful song of mourning to those lost at Haven. As he tried to sleep, he couldn't escape the vision of her keen eyes. With every step he took, he fought an impulse to turn around and beg for her forgiveness.


End file.
